


It's Been A While

by cucumbersandwitches



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: BAU!Reader, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Dead Parents, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Female Reader, ITS ABOUT THE YEARNING, Light Petting, Slow Burn, and sexual tension that climaxes in unfounded arguments, i hope you have a deadbeat ex called ben bc if not... now you do, just more trauma for reid, my attempt at criminal profiling, past toxic relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:01:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 36,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26236819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cucumbersandwitches/pseuds/cucumbersandwitches
Summary: Six years.It’s been six years since your parents’ murder and every day since had been spent dedicated to proving the Agents who couldn’t solve the case wrong. But when you finally join the BAU at the ripe young age of twenty-five, you are faced with a certain Doctor you couldn’t forget.One who never forgot you either.
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Reader, Spencer Reid/You
Comments: 19
Kudos: 189





	1. That Fateful Day

It was an abnormally cold Christmas eve that year. Frost rimmed every pane of glass in the windows except the ones in the kitchen where the turkey and all the fixings were being burnt to a crisp in the oven. It was the smell that struck you, the one bizarre thing that set you on edge once you opened the front door for the last time. 

‘Mom?’ you called into the silent house. ‘Dad?’

 _There’s been a fire_ , is the first thing you thought, except the fire alarm wasn't blaring and you could see no evidence of flames. Setting down the bags of groceries and last-minute presents you had been sent out to purchase, you made your way through the entry hall to the dining room, then through to the kitchen where your parents would normally have been bickering about how to cook the potatoes and which drawer the tea towels belonged in. It was silent but not empty. 

On the floor, skewered with their kitchen knives with multi-coloured handles, were your parents; looking like a terrible attempt at a jolly, holiday slumber party. The only thing, besides the knives sticking out from their stomachs, that spoiled the figures of them propped up and leaning on each other next to the smoking oven, was the blood. There was a tremendous amount of blood. That was your first coherent thought, the sheer amount of liquid a human body contains. 

‘There is in fact around five litres of blood in the average human, but it looks like a lot more when spread out like that on the floor. Five litres at approximately one centimetre thick would cover 0.5 meters square, times by two would be one-meter square. Not all the blood was drained out of your parents, as blood flow stops shortly after death, but it would still be a substantial amount of fluid,’ the young doctor would comment when you brought it up later, as you sat shivering from shock in the interrogation room as the FBI try to convince you that you aren’t a suspect despite being the first one to the scene of a double murder. 

‘Reid. That's enough,’ the other agent says sharply. The doctor’s head obediently dips and you feel the pull of a smile for the first time in hours. 

Hotch is severely regretting his decision to instruct Reid to help in the questioning of the victim’s daughter. At first, it seemed a good idea, such a young, traumatised young woman would wish for the reassuring presence of someone their own age. Elle was currently at the ME’s with Morgan and JJ had already made an appearance with a piping hot coffee and one of those thin fleece blankets that was still draped over your shoulders. Gideon remained at the scene. 

‘Why is the FBI even here?’ you ask, directed more to the uptight man in the suit and tie than the guy in converse and the earnest look of sympathy. His words won't stop playing in your mind. It's disgusting and gruesome and yet at the same time hopelessly interesting how fast the words spill out of his mouth, calculating surface area of blood on a tile floor unencumbered. 

‘We believe that your parents’ death is linked to another in a nearby state. A case becomes federal once it crosses state lines.’

Oddly you focus on the fact that he said death rather than murder, not the fact that you have no family and no home on the day before Christmas. That will settle in later when Ben drives you past your house’s lawn covered with police tape and flashing red and blue lights. 

‘We just have a few questions about what happened before you left to go shopping. Did your parents exhibit any suspicious activity that day or the days leading up to it? Anything out of the ordinary?’

‘Do you think my parents killed themselves?’ you exclaim, leaping to sudden conclusions. The first of many. ‘No, we were a happy family preparing for the holidays. No- they would never!’

‘That's not what Hotch meant’ Dr Reid pipes up in an attempt to reassure you, gesturing nervously with his hands. ‘Rather, he means any weird phone calls or letters perhaps. Did your parents seem on edge in any way, or overly cautious? We are trying to determine if it was premeditated like the other case.’

‘Um, I don’t know. My parents were protective and strict. They are always overly cautious. We have alarm systems and all the windows and doors have secure locks. It was mostly to keep me in, but they also functioned to prevent theft and stuff.’

‘You didn't have keys to any of the window’s?’ the two agents exchange a look, contemplating what you just said. This unsub is either much more skilled than they thought or close enough to the family to know his way around all their protection. 

‘Only a key to the front door,’ you say with a nod, pulling the blanket closer. ‘I once managed to jimmy the lock to my window with a paperclip and a bobby pin, but I only did that once.’

‘Did they not want you sneaking out?’ Hotch asks.

‘Yeah. I’m an only child, and as I said, they were super protective.’

‘Do you have someone, nearby relatives perhaps, that you can stay with tonight?’ Reid asks.

‘No. Do you not think I would have been with them? It's Christmas Eve after all.’ The cold and grief have gotten to you, and like your coffee, you've gone bitter. ‘And I don't need a guardian. I'm nineteen, I only came down to stay with my parents for the holiday break.’

The two men’s eyes meet again and have some sort of imaginary conversation with each other before one turns to the mirror with a cocked eyebrow. It's then that the blonde woman emerges in the doorway again saying that a young man has come to pick you up. 

‘A Ben Davis?’ she says like it’s a question.

‘Is he a friend?’ Hotch asks, looking back at you still sitting across the table. 

‘A neighbour.’

The agents reluctantly let you leave, the one in the suit you have come to call Hotch, although you assume that is more a nickname among colleagues than his proper title, gives you his card and you promise to give him a call if you remember anything. You can't help hoping that the shy yet zealously factual doctor gave you his instead. He seems much kinder.

The grief ripples like a shockwave through your body once Ben, who kindly said you could stay with him for the time being, turns the corner onto your street. The houses are lined with lights and a fluffy layer of snow has settled along all exposed surfaces. Yet it's no longer festive and heartwarming, it's only taunting. You stare at your lap and fidget with your fingers inside your mittens. 

‘How are you feeling?’

It seems that the questions never seem to end. Everything that has been said to you has been a question about something or another and it has become overwhelming. You decide to stay quiet as the image of your parents lying in a pool of their blood haunts your thoughts, never leaving for more than a second at a time. 

When the BAU arrived, depressed and angry at the sudden call on a day normally reserved for gorging on fatty foods and dealing with your annoying family, they saw the murders as a simple enough case. They stayed long enough to deliver a mediocre profile, promising more in the new year once the team went home and celebrated with their families. The last murder, a state over, was at thanksgiving, and they didn’t see a threat until new years eve, but more realistically easter: the next family-centred holiday. Hotch and Gideon saw it as no bad decision to put the case on the back burner. They had the police send all the reports and witness statements, and they would send in a more detailed profile in the coming weeks. Although some of their cases developed quickly and the unsub was caught in the following week, this one had no obvious leads beside the question of how he bypassed the home security, and Garcia was already on that. 

What Gideon did not anticipate was that those expected weeks turned into months and then years. The picture of you that was once at the forefront of his desk soon spilt over into the back of the shelf and they no longer had time to fly back to pick back up the investigation where they left off. 

But you never stopped. After wallowing at Ben’s while his parents were away to the Bahamas to celebrate without him, you went back to the new term at university the following year and changed your major to criminology, with a minor in psychology and a special focus on criminal justice. You dedicated your life to trying to solve your parents’ murder. Soon after moving in with Ben, the spare room became a shrine to your theories and sleuthing attempts. Ben only chuckled and patronisingly patted you on the head whenever you came to him with inevitably uneventful leads. You broke up with him a year ago when he ridiculed your attempts to get into the FBI’s training academy. 

‘You have spent the past five years hating the agents that never found your parents killer. Don’t you think it's a bit weird to want to join them?’

‘I want to prove how incompetent they are by becoming the youngest agent to join the BAU.’

‘What about that weird doctor you won’t shut up about?’

‘He doesn’t count,’ you snap. 

It was hard to cope without Ben. He had been beside you ever since your parents passed, a constant in a whirlwind of instability. He was the boy next door you had a crush on, the one you had picked the lock for. The one your parents had been especially cautious about, which only spurred you further. After a year or two of basically dating but without the mediocre sex, you had finally gotten together. But it didn't last long and soon his possessiveness came to resemble your parents' control and his disinterestedness in your quest to catch the killer left you frustrated. 

But, as you scanned your official FBI badge after graduating out of the academy and clicked the button in the elevator for the sixth floor, Ben was at the very back of your mind. Today, after almost six years, you were a part of the team that had allowed your parents’ murder to walk away, and you were going to prove them all wrong.


	2. Prove Them Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On your first day at the BAU you meet the team, but one member you remember more than the others.

To Spencer, it is just another average day filled with paperwork and hijinks that just manage to stay out of sight of Hotch and Strauss. Rossi, as usual, only tugs up his blinds and watches, enjoying the spectacle as Morgan attempts to get Reid to drink an obviously spiked coffee, judging by the bright flash of colour that belongs to Garcia peeking out from the hallway. Emily and JJ sit on their desks nearby trying to suppress their giggles as Reid comes up with increasingly ridiculous ways of avoiding what he has come to realize is the karma of the prank he had pulled on the plane the day prior.

‘I've quit caffeine. Statistically, 85% of American adults consume caffeine daily, a rather large per cent considering the adverse effects of it over time…’

‘Oh, quit it, Pretty Boy.’ 

Reid only grins, playfully taking a sip of his already existing cup on his desk which has been slowly going cold after he forgot about it almost half an hour ago. He immediately spits it out, the salt stinging on his tongue. The bullpen erupts in laughter as Spencer wipes the dribbles off his chin with a huff of annoyance.

‘That's what you get for pouring half a cup of sugar into your coffee,’ Derek teases.

The laughter echoes behind Spencer as he makes his way to the kitchenette to pour himself a glass of water in an attempt to clean his mouth of the horrible taste that still lingers. After swishing and spitting several times, and swallowing an entire glass in thirst, he makes his way back to the now silent bullpen, scanning the room for where his colleagues have disappeared to, already thinking up extravagant ways to get Morgan back. They are up the catwalk already with a woman he doesn't recognise. He hurries at the sound of Hotch calling his name and flings himself into his chair just as Garcia stands up and motions to the screen. 

‘You guys are going to historic Wilmington where ex-cons are being hung from trees in various public parks.’

She turns to the screen only to be met with the blueish face of a man suspended from a noose. ‘Eugh,’ she says with a shiver of disgust. 

‘Are we sure these are not lynchings? There seems to be a racial element, that victim is African American.’ Prentiss starts, her eyes drifting nervously around the room. 

‘Could be, but the second and fifth are caucasian, and the third is Hispanic,’ Hotch elaborates and Garcia nods, returning everyone’s attention forward. Reid, having already finished reading his case file, began to express his theories to the group. You listen intently, fascinated as his pace quickens. 

‘Although it is the deep south and the KKK or other white supremacists are a possibility, it seems these are more about taking justice into their own hands. A couple of hundred years ago in places like Wilmington, what we would consider petty crimes and misdemeanours could lead to execution. In fact, I find it strange that the second victim, who was convicted of burglary, doesn't also have his hand chopped off as that was another typical punishment for theft and pickpocketing.’ 

When Reid looks up from consulting his file, all eyes, including the new girl’s are pointed at him. 

‘That's an interesting theory,’ you reply as your gaze lingers on his. ‘You must be Dr Spencer Reid. I’m Y/N L/N.’

His eidetic memory makes him remember everything he saw and most of what he heard, but it doesn't matter. He has never forgotten about you and probably never would. For the past six years, he's been keeping tabs on you, making sure that you were alright. He was the one that provided an excellent reference that aided you in getting a placement in the FBI academy and even pulled some strings to guarantee you a scholarship so you could finish your master’s early without needing a second job to pay the rent. It feels odd to introduce himself when he already knows you so well. So, he gives an awkward wave then returns to the task at hand. 

You feel odd in the same sort of way. Ever since that rambling on litres of blood in that frosty interrogation room that fateful Christmas Eve, you couldn't get the good doctor out of your head. Online you hunted down academic articles he was affiliated with, even referencing him in your final dissertation. You heard whispers about him at the academy, snickers about how he did not pass the physical exam and gossip about his IQ, each girl saying it was higher than the last until one of the guys began to mercilessly tease him for failing his marksmanship test so many times it was laughable. Alongside all the greats, like John Douglas, David Rossi, and Jason Gideon, resides Dr Spencer Reid. Somewhat of a mystical figure, like a unicorn, except real and all the more dangerous and exceptional. 

They say never meet your heroes and it's sound logic. 

You keep to yourself on the jet, familiarizing yourself with the case and coming up with theories that wouldn't leave Hotch disappointed. 

‘I learned the hard way that this lot like to discuss theories together. It's best to join, as much as it feels comfortable to reside in one’s mind,’ Rossi says as he comes to stand next to your chair giving you a knowing look. ‘Come on, don't be worried about saying the wrong thing, what we say here is only a fraction of what becomes the final profile.’

You give him a faint smile and follow him to the couch, next to where JJ is discussing with Garcia the possibility of compiling a list of released inmates in Wilmington and the surrounding areas.

‘It looks like he’s going for bigger crimes, so focus in on murderers and men convicted of violent crimes or large scale theft.’

‘And sexual assault,’ you add. ‘Jordan O’Neal, the first victim, was incarcerated for rape and possession of a deadly weapon. It's a possibility the revenge started with him then the unsub gained a taste for it.’ 

You went for what was constantly reiterated in your lectures and Rossi’s books, that revenge type killings are always personal, and that if it's a series like this, it's probably the first or the last that is the prime target.

‘Or he could be building up to his final target, but good input Y/N,’ Hotch replies with an acknowledging nod of the head. 

Deep inside you know that you should resent them, that they are the ones that left you an orphan without closure, but just that small sentence, just that small gesture, sends a warmth of belonging and pride to your heart, swelling in your chest. 

Touching down at Wilmington airport just as the sun was setting, Hotch promised food in exchange for a few hours at the station setting up and going over the five victims and any connections they might have. Spencer, as always, starts on the geographical profile, while JJ, putting her liaison skills to work, tries to get ahead of the story that the Klan or white supremacists are involved. Although it's still a possibility, the media will only sensationalise it and aggravate the community if they are led to believe this is racial violence. 

Picking up a spring roll, you gravitate to the one person you are most comfortable with. Emily and Derek are speaking to family members, so you abandon your place at the table and go try to help Spencer with whatever he’s doing with all the maps. There are two main colours of pins, one red on blue. The blue seems to be where the victims lived and worked, while the red is the disposal sites. There are also a couple of yellow ones which he informs you are where the vics were last seen, although they are only estimates of where they were attacked. 

‘The ME report says that they were all bludgeoned on the head to knock them unconscious, so he must attack them from behind, and then have some way of transporting the unconscious bodies to the parks.’ You ponder the maps, then return your gaze to the file in your hands. ‘It could be a pair, that's an awfully difficult job, trying to get these bulky men into some sort of vehicle in a semi-public place. None of them were taken from their residences.’

‘Does it say anything about broken neck bones?’ he mumbles as he sticks post-it notes all over the board. 

‘No, it says the cause of death was asphyxiation, but not because of the noose. The bruises from the rope are all post-mortem,’ you answer. ‘That means the noose was only a prop.’

‘A signature,’ Reid supplies ‘A combination of MO and ritual.’

‘I know what a signature is.’

That's when the resentment begins. When you hear that condescension in his voice and know that he doesn't take you seriously one bit. It only aggravates things when he constantly focuses his attention away from you and hardly supplies more than a sentence at a time. It’s like you've reversed roles, you're rambling and he is chillingly quiet. 

‘Any updates?’ 

Hotch returns from speaking with the lead detective and is gunning for some break in the case that will satisfy the team until morning.

‘I went through the ME report, and it turns out it was not the hanging that killed the vic, but some sort of asphyxiation prior.’

‘They were already dead before they were strung up?’

‘Seems that way.’

‘Okay, keep on with that. Reid, have you pinpointed his comfort area yet?’

‘It's coming, sir.’

‘Good, finish up here then go to the hotel and get some sleep, I have a feeling this is going to be a long one.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> You get closer to the other agents as you work to solve the murders, but Spencer is not as welcoming as expected. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, commenting and leaving kudos!


	3. First, Second, Third Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As you and the team work to solve the case, you and Spencer must reconcile with the past.

Emily drives you to the Holiday Inn that the team is staying at for the foreseeable future. Due to budget cuts, everyone has to double up, and since there is an odd number of women, triple up as well. Emily takes the pull out couch, setting her and JJ’s bags on the other bed from yours. The room is quite spacious and the bathroom has a double sink. When you comment about it in the morning as you join your colleagues for a quick breakfast, Morgan makes some comment about women taking too long to get ready and JJ almost boxes his ears when he starts doing a high pitched impression. Reid is sitting with Hotch and Rossi at another table eating disgusting Raisin Bran and pouring too much sugar in his coffee. The rambunctious group at your table catches you staring and you're quick to avert your gaze and keep it far from the genius doctor for the rest of breakfast. 

‘Hey sweetheart,’ Morgan says with a grin as you dig back into your fruit salad. ‘You and pretty boy, huh?’ 

He arches his eyebrow and you roll your eyes at the grins of the coworkers you were just beginning to trust.

‘It's not like that, Derek.’

‘What is it like?’ JJ nudges, leaning on her arms across the table.

‘It's just, he seems to be acting a bit cold and dismissive. Is he always like that, or is it me?’

‘He takes time to warm up to people.’ Emily reassures you. ‘When I joined he practically snapped at me every chance he got. But that was only because…’ she trails off. 

The other agents suddenly become preoccupied with their food and before you can ask what she was talking about, Hotch is rounding you up and out to the SUVs waiting in the parking lot outside. 

The only member of the BAU you haven't gotten close to at that point was the technical analyst, but you got very intimate very soon when you call her to ask about possible connections between the latest victims - discovered only this morning - and the others.

‘Morning loverboy, did you dream about me last night?’ a soft voice whispers over the phone. 

‘Um, is this Garcia?’

There is a pregnant pause as you hear her mumble something about Strauss alongside an intricate list of curse words.

‘You must be the new agent, Y/N!’ she says with joy, but it doesn't sound forced to cover up the awkwardness, she genuinely is pleased to talk to you.

‘That’s me. Listen, I need you to find any possible connections to the other vics and the new one.’

‘There is a new one?’

‘Discovered only this morning. His name is Damien Lewis, aged thirty-two. Could you send over a complete file to him as well?’

‘Will do my lovely,’ she says, then she hangs up. You can hear the smile in her voice. 

It's a startling introduction, but it's nothing to the shock of seeing your (second) first dead body laid out on the metal rack. Standing in the morgue as the medical examiner and Spencer have some weird back and forth about the different ways the unsub could be suffocating the victim and what the type of bruising indicates, _that_ Christmas comes back in horrifying waves of nausea. 

‘I'm sorry, Spencer, I need to get some air.’

He excuses the two of you then trials after you into the bright white hallway, leaning against the concrete wall beside you. 

‘I should have warned you. It's hard enough seeing the crime scene, but I sometimes forget that in this state it's almost worse.’

‘You remember me, don't you?’

‘I have an eidetic memory and an IQ of 187, I don’t forget anything or anyone.’

He says it shyly as if people have told him that he should be proud of his achievements and list them at every chance he’s got, but he’s too humble to list the whole _‘three PhDs and a reading rate of 20,000 words per minute’_ shtick.

‘Oh, so it's really 187?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Your just a bit famous at the academy. Mostly because you didn't go to the academy.’ 

He chuckles nervously, obviously taken by surprise.

‘One girl claimed that your IQ was well over 200.’

‘Well, that's not impossible but highly unlikely. Theoretically, the highest IQ is 200, but there have been people with IQs as high as 263.’

‘Wow, so you're not even close,’ you say with a playful nudge and Spencer squirms beside you. 

That horrible, stiff silence drifts in again and you try and come up with something to say but the longer it takes the worse the awkwardness will be when you finally do speak. Saved by the ringing of his phone, both of your attention becomes focused on Rossi’s voice over the speaker asking about what the ME said. You stay silent and lose focus, allowing Spencer to ramble about bruising patterns and the use of a different bludgeoning object. 

It's not until later that day, after delivering the profile to the local police department, that you finally have a moment to reconcile your past and present. They’ve all changed and two were replaced. But the one that strikes you as the biggest change is the evolution from the nerdy guy with oversized sweaters and a shy smile, to the man leaning over the desk next to JJ wearing a waistcoat and a button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. He is more confident with his hair shorter and curled in a way that longs to be pulled. 

_Waistcoat._ That's what Ben called them. Ben, the one history buff you know. The one who managed not to lose his temper when you watched that scene in Pride and Prejudice where Mr Darcy emerges from the lake for the fifth time in a row. You immediately pull out your phone and walk over to a quiet corner, calling Garcia and asking her to pull up a list of local historians or reenactors. Anybody who would have the same knowledge Reid exhibited on the jet only the other day. 

‘Okay, okay,’ you hear her hum to herself as she searches the interwebs for what you need. ‘There is a colonial society that meets each month. Plus plenty of civil war battlefields and various museums.’

‘Keep searching, and try to find any link to historic executions.’

You hang up with a quick farewell before turning and motioning to tell Hotch you’ve got something. That theory was always a possibility, but it became a reality when the increased police presence at historic sights and the parks around town lead to the arrest of the unsub just as he was about to string up the corpse of the seventh victim. His name was Brian Marks and he was the uncle to the rape victim of Jordan O’Neal. Although that lead had been explored, Prentiss had concluded that he was not even in the state at the time the murders began. However, your theory was right and there were two unsubs. The other unsub, a one Daryll Jackson, was the father of the man the third victim had killed who conveniently had an alibi for most of the murders. It seems like they took turns as a forensic countermeasure. What Spencer had been discussing with the ME was the fact that the bruising was mostly on the left side, indicating that the stronger, dominant hand was the left one, unlike the previous victim. 

They had met at counselling group for families of victims of violent crimes. Marks was a historian and Jackson was a lawyer. They shared their anger about the men that destroyed their lives being let out of prison and decided to take matters into their own hands by using the barbarous methods of the eighteenth century to prove their point. 

It was hard for you to even watch the interrogations through the glass, hearing your sentiments being reflected at you in such a wicked way. You almost sympathised with their struggle, losing loved ones, the injustice of the system that lets murderers and rapists slip through the cracks. It almost made you want to pull an Elle Greenaway, but instead, you let it simmer inside you, ready to bring the anger to a boil when the moment was right. 

‘Hey Y/N!’ JJ calls, motioning for you to join her and Emily in the group of four chairs in the middle of the jet. Morgan is already plugged into his music at the far end and you can hear Hotch and Rossi coming up behind you discussing the latter’s progress in writing his next book. You weave your way to them, slipping in across from the two women and manoeuvring to the window seat. 

‘That was a tough first case. You should be proud, you're a much better profiler than I was at your age.’

You smile at the compliment although you know enough about Emily to realize that when she was 25 she was working for Interpol and travelling the world working undercover. 

‘I'm no Dr Reid, though.’

‘Oh sweetie, no one is,’ JJ says with a chuckle, her eyes drifting past over your head. 

‘I'm pretty sure he is at least half cyborg,’ Emily says with a conspiratorial smile. 

‘I think you mean half robot. A cyborg is by definition half-human, half-robot,’ the doctor himself supplies as he appears on the jet. 

He doesn't hear your internal pleading and sits down on the beige chair next to you, tucking his bag under his feet and pulling out an alarmingly hefty paperback book. If the two female agents notice your uncomfortable shifting and the way you never settle your gaze on him longer than a few seconds, they don't mention it. Instead, they raise their eyebrows unconsciously and run their tongue over their teeth in amusement.

Once again, he doesn't speak much, supplying the odd correction and giving brief answers to any comments aimed his way. What to you seems rude and cold, is his protective strategy. Once his ramblings begin he gets so passionate and invested that he subconsciously goes off on tangents that could have the ill effects of revealing that he knows way more about you than a normal colleague, much less one you only met a few days earlier. So, his best bet is to pretend he doesn't know you. Fortunately, no one else remembers that blip of a case six years ago, they hardly remember their names after toiling cases like these. You and Spencer continue to act as if you just met, and Spencer grows more and more infatuated everyday. But it's for the best, who knows what would happen if news got out that he has been pining after a girl he had one conversation with six years ago. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> While compleating paperwork, going out with the team, and striving to solve your parents' murder, there are unavoidable misunderstandings and unfounded conclusions.


	4. Unavoidable Implications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Profilers will profile, but that doesn't mean they're always right.

The rest of the week after the end of your first case is filled with never-ending paperwork. There are hundreds of reports, and a bunch of things to complete to make your position official including endless emails from HR. You try to keep normal office hours, coming in at nine unless Hotch states otherwise, then leaving at five o’clock. And yet, you are always the last one in and the first out the door. You begin to realize why when all your reports and such are due in and you've only completed about two thirds. It takes an all-nighter to finish them all and hand them in bright and early, placing them neatly on the corner of Hotch’s desk before he is even in. It takes dedication, a gallon of coffee, and leaving your apartment at six in the morning, but it's worth it to see that signature nod of affirmation and the pride of seeing his face when he comes in to see you already stationed at your desk going over your possible next case. 

The rest of the team trickles in over the next hour, surprised to see you at Quantico so early as you nurse your third coffee and try not to bounce your knee. You spend the day trying to find a way to access the old records of your parents' case while the rest of the team completes and turns in their reports. While they are otherwise preoccupied planning some get-together later, you sneak off to the records room in the basement where you hope there is a physical copy or your parents' cold case. Knowing Penelope’s skills, she could easily discover you typing in various keywords to various search bars trying to find the right one so you keep to the old-school files. It's musty and leads to nothing other than a few too many sneezes. While cases ten years are stored all the way down in the bottom floor, more recent ones are not to be found. They must be either completely digitized or stored somewhere else. But, just as you begin the hunt again, your phone beeps with an incoming text.

**_JJ: 8:30 at The Clover, you in?_ **

**_Definitely,_ **you text back before making your way back up the BAU bullpen. 

Morgan gives you a suspicious look but you give him nothing more to question as you walk confidently back to your desk. Except it wasn't where you went off to that the profiler was concerned with, but rather with who. Coming through the glass doors after you is Reid, his hair mussed and shirt untucked. You don't look much better. After digging through files and stacking and unstacking endless evidence boxes, the front sections of your hair have slipped from where it was pinned back and your skirt is exceedingly wrinkled. It wasn't exactly a long shot for Morgan to conclude that the two of you may have been up to something. 

You decide to play into it, mess with the team a bit, Spencer included. You give him a wink as he passes you to reach his desk, conveniently right across from yours, however, that didn't stop him from ignoring you all week. Your pristine, saint-like depiction of Dr Reid - that sweet FBI agent who rambles endlessly - he is starting to crumble away and be replaced by this callous, obtuse know-it-all who seems set to pretend you didn't exist. It is infuriating. And it only makes those tender moments, like when he followed you out to the hall at the morgue or offered to grab your coffee, all the more heartbreaking.

‘You coming tonight?’ you ask him in a playful, sultry tone that you hope doesn't sound too put on. 

He glances up, confused. In your peripheral, you can see Morgan watching the interaction with eagle eyes and it builds up your courage. 

‘To The Clover. We’re all going later, you should come. You can finally let them see you loosen up.’

You bite your lip, hoping no one catches the way your heart seems to be beating out of your chest. He only sighs and returns to his work, but you don't let him off the hook that easily. Coming around to sit on the edge of his desk, smoothing your hair back, you lean in. 

‘Come on Pretty Boy, you’ve got nothing to lose. Maybe you’ll even get lucky.’ 

With that you get up, your hand trailing on his shoulder as you turn to leave. Morgan stands by the side with a grin and you lick your lips as you pass. He gives you a swift up and down and they cocks his head in approval. 

‘Nice skirt, jailbait.’ 

You add a bit of sway to your hips hoping more than just Morgan is watching. 

The name of the place says it all. It's not a nightclub or rowdy college bar, but an Irish pub that serves as many different beers as the rest of the drinks on the menu combined. You weren't looking to get drunk or dance the night away - you were still running on hardly any sleep and buckets of coffee - but you wanted to warm up to the young agents and this seems like the perfect chance. 

‘First rounds on me, sugar,’ Morgan declares as you pull up a seat. There is already a multitude of empty and half-empty glasses on the table, so your first round is everyone else's second. That is except for the young doctor who once again happens to time his entrance just right to arrive uncomfortably after you. Not close enough to seem like you came together, but not far enough apart for conclusions not to be reached. And it doesn't help your case that he is still wearing the same rumpled clothing from work and comes to sit directly beside you. 

Penelope is on your other side and spends the first few drinks chatting your ear off. Her energy is infectious and you begin to forget your troubles, slipping deeper and deeper into a drunken haze. The alcohol plus the lack of rest takes it tole earlier than expected, and you lean back against the sticky vinyl booth while the group goes around sharing their most embarrassing sex stories. They’re hilarious, and the way JJ describes trying to use the bathroom with handcuffs still on and Emily recounts trying to explain to her mother how the hot tub broke doubles you over with raucous laughter, collapsing into Spencer whose blush spreads further up his neck. He was already getting uncomfortable, being the only sober one left, but the press of your giggling frame against his chest sends him reeling. 

‘What about you, newbie,’ Garcia teases with a poke to your side, forcing you back to sitting straighter. 

‘Uh, me?’

‘Yeah, you. What's your most embarrassing story.’

‘I’ve only really been with one guy, and it was pretty vanilla.’

‘Oh come on, Y/N, there must be something,’ Prentiss urges. 

‘Okay, give me a sec. Um, well there was one time he wanted to roleplay being, um, my dad.’

‘Like a daddy kink. That's not that embarrassing,’ Derek says with all the confidence of a man who likes to pretend he knows what he’s talking about. 

‘No, I mean like my actual father. Name and everything.’

 _Wow, peer pressure really does work._ The group falls silent and you realize how horrible and incset-y what you said sounds. You hear murmurs of ‘oh shit’ and ‘that’s messed up’. 

‘And you stayed with him?’ Penelope leans in to ask.

‘I mean, yeah. He was my only connection, my only friend, my only family. I had no other choice until I moved away to train at Quantico.’

It's so sad to admit that in the dim of a sleazy bar, but it's true. Ben was the only person you had to call your own. One your other side Spencer is rambling about Freud and psychoanalysis and the rest of the team gladly redirects their attention. You leave soon after. 

The weekend passes far too quickly and before you know it you're stuck in the elevator with Anderson exchanging small talk. He politely opens the glass doors for you and walks with you to your desk. Reid gives you an odd look when you wish the other agent a good day.

‘You do know he’s married, right?’

‘What are you talking about?’ you answer, setting your purse down and sorting through all the newly stacked paperwork. 

‘If you're going to be the office flirt you can at least have the decency to respect people's relationships.’

‘What the hell, Reid?’

He only returns to his work, making you boil with rage. Dropping the files you were holding, you storm to the only place you can think of, the precious lair of your latest friend, the sweet Penny Garcia. Hopefully, a bitchy rant with her will clear your head and sort out whatever bullshit Spencer was spewing. 

‘I think he’s jealous,’ was her final answer after you recounted all that you had endured the past week. 

‘Jealous? Come on Pen, as if,’ you say with a sigh. ‘And even so, it doesn’t give him an excuse to act like an asshole.’

‘Of course not, Y/N, but it does explain a lot. He’s avoiding you because he is scared of the feelings that have started to develop and he takes it out on the innocent men you show more attention to.’

This time the sigh is closer to a groan.

‘I hate to admit it, but it makes sense.’

You collapse into the chair after pacing frantically. 

‘So, hun, what are you going to do about it?’

‘I don’t know yet.’

Hotch is sitting behind his desk when you knock carefully on the doorframe, asking permission to enter.

‘Agent L/N,’ he says, waving you in. 

‘I just got your message, what do you wish to speak to me about?’

‘I just wanted to check-in, see how you're fitting in at the BAU. It's a big change, being in the field for the first time, but I believe you're handling it well.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ 

Although now that you've come to know him personally, he is still highly intimidating. With his sharp stare and imposing presence, you understand why he is the boss. 

‘It has come to my attention upon reviewing your file that your parents were involved in one of our past cases. Are you sure you are comfortable reliving that every day? Part of the job is speaking to families and visiting crime scenes and I want to make sure that you can manage.’

‘I worked hard for this position because of my parents and what happened to them. Like any job, it will simply take some getting used to.’

‘Of course.’ 

You take that as a dismissal and you begin to exit the office, but you pause and turn to ask a question. 

‘Did Reid speak to you about this?’

‘He may have come forward with some concerns, but as long as I have your word that you will tell me if it becomes too much, I will entertain it no longer. It never has to leave this room.’

‘I will be fine, sir, but I will let you know if anything comes up.’ 

You try and be as cool and professional as possible despite the unfolding facts that 1) Hotch remembers the unsolved case and has done nothing more to solve it 2) Reid snitched to your boss about the day at the morgue, and 3) your every move is going to be evaluated and scrutinized, making it harder than you thought to complete your goals. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> Hotch was only allowed to send two FBI agents, but why must it be you and Spencer?


	5. Forced Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new case brings close quarters.

Boy, did you hate local law enforcement. Four college girls had been murdered in a month, each with more stab wounds than the last, and the Sheriff continued to fight against the FBI coming to consult. So, while Hotch spent the day endlessly phoning, trying to get the DA or the Director to intervene in favour of the BAU, the rest of the team was huddled in the conference room spitballing theories as you waited for the sign that you could board the jet and fly to Texas. It's a pretty classic profile - loner, white male, late twenties to mid-thirties, most likely a college dropout who works a menial job, bad with women. 

‘The women he is killing probably represent the women he found unattainable in highschool and university. If he was turned down even once that rejection could haunt him until he takes it out onto another young woman who bears any sort of resemblance.’

‘They are all tall, slim brunettes. Maybe he finds them intimidating, he could be physically weak or have some sort of self-esteem issue that makes him take it out on young, fit, attractive women.’

‘The fact that he attacks them when their jogging makes me think it might be more than not fitting into a traditionally masculine role. The blitz attacks, taken from behind in a secluded place, might mean that he has a stutter or some sort of physical deformity that prevents him from being like Ted Bundy. He can't lure his vics with charm, so he has to attack them on secluded trails.’

‘But if he is weak or has a deformity, then the aggressive, violent attacks don’t make as much sense. These women would put up a fight and he can’t risk-’

‘L/N, Reid, my office.’ 

Hotch cuts short your addition to the speculations. You exchange a confused look with Spencer before following him out of the round table room and into Hotch’s office. You close the door behind you, knowing that whatever he is going to say is private. 

‘After negotiations with the local PD, they have allowed a maximum of two agents to fly down to consult. I’ve decided to send you two.’

‘May I ask why?’

‘You may,’ Hotch says, gesturing for you to sit down across the desk from him. ‘You two are the youngest agents we have. It will be easier for you to blend in with the crowds and the students will be more likely to talk to you about sensitive topics if they don't perceive you as a threat.’

‘Do you mean to say we are going undercover?’ 

You avoid looking at Spencer, but with the hesitation in his voice, he must be as confused and concerned as you are. You and Spencer, and only you and Spencer, were going to have to work together for days, even weeks depending on the intensity of the case. And with only two profilers, this case might take longer than others. You chew on the inside of your lip and try not to dissociate. 

‘Not necessarily, but you will be spending a lot of time on campus. The main reason the Sheriff's office doesn’t want us all down there is that they believe it would create fear in the community, which I do not blame them for. Reid, I suggest you focus more on the academic circles, interview staff as well as classmates and monitor the library or other study areas. L/N, you are going to look into the social life of the students at the university, go to clubs, hang around the student union or any popular spots around town. All four victims were social yet also show significant use of their professors' office hours, so I need both sides covered. The jet is waiting for you.’

It’s unnerving for the plane to be this empty. Spencer can’t help but miss the restless chatter, the never-ending movement of breathing even when he is the only one still awake. It's weird to sit next to you on the couch when for the past couple weeks he purposefully sat as far as possible from you without causing a scene. You've noticed, how could you not, and thus this trip is bound up with a tight knot of stress. But it also holds a certain possibility, it is the perfect vehicle to prove yourself, to solve a case the way it should be; quickly and without fault. So far your role has been minor. Hotch has subtly kept you at the station, asking you to question witnesses and interview families, allowing you to pour all your empathy and emotion into the job. He tells you it’s because of your parents, or that he needs to make sure you're comfortable before sending you into the field, but you can’t help feeling that he doesn’t think you're competent enough. It’s not enough that you’re already hired, but it should be. 

You hear talk about an Agent Seaver as rumours about your past circle through the bullpen, becoming twisted even further with each round. You conclude that she must have had some sort of link to murder in her past as well that she brought to the job, and you strive to separate yourself from the cloud of misinformation that dwells like a never-ending rainstorm overhead. Finally, after one too many less than hidden glances in your direction, you get Hotch to address the team and give a short explanation. It feels a bit childish to go running to daddy, but after that things settle down and gossip is replaced with pity, which is not much better. 

‘We should stop by the Police Department and get the latest developments before visiting the campus,’ Spender suggests when the pilot’s voice echoes through the cabin saying that the plane is beginning its descent. 

‘Sounds good. We also need to check into the hotel sooner rather than later.’

‘Why is that?’

‘I've seen enough romcoms to know how this goes. Either there is only one room left, or there is only one room left _and_ there's only one bed. That is why we check in early and secure two separate rooms.’

‘The BAU’s budget has been cut by 6.3%, do you really think the Bureau is going to put us up in two separate rooms?’

He loses all his confidence when you are both proven correct: there is only one room booked. Thankfully the god of people you must travel for work has blessed you with a double and there is no awkwardness surrounding the prospect of sharing a bed. 

‘I was right,’ he mumbles as you plop down on the bad you’ve claimed, riding out the bounce of the mattress. 

‘Don't get cocky, we were both right.’

The deputy, as the icing on the cake, is not only incompetent but misogynistic. One minute in the same room as him and you can see every hideous thought of his as if it were written across his face. He eyes the hem of your skirt and the buttons of your blouse and you squirm in disgust. 

‘Please don't tell me that's the guy we're working alongside for the foreseeable future.’

‘Unfortunately, he is,’ Spencer responds.

He seems just as insulted and you question whether he has his own foibles with the man or if he is offended on your behalf. You exaggerate a shudder of revulsion and Spencer reaches out to open the car door for you, giving you his classic straight lipped smile. 

‘Do you want me to say something? Men are more likely to accept a woman’s rejection if another man is involved.’

‘I hate that that’s true,’ you say with a sigh, buckling your seat belt. ‘I would appreciate that Spence.’

He dies a little inside at the nickname and occupies himself with checking all his mirrors before he turns onto the main street towards the university campus. 

‘You know, you didn't have to drive,’ you say after a bout of silence. ‘I would have gladly driven, knowing how much you dislike it.’

‘I didn't convince the government to grant me a license at fourteen to never use it.’

You shake your head with a chuckle and he grins as well, making the final turn to bring you into the closest parking space. You walk side by side up the grass-lined path to the main building, hoping to speak with the head of the University to evaluate the measures already implemented to keep the students safe. 

Sometime later, after the ruddy-faced University Head had agreed to all your terms, you and Spencer split up to cover the bases as instructed by Hotch. Although you had silently agreed to put your differences aside, there is still a tension that lingers between you and the genius. But you have a theory, and you have a chance to prove it was right. Surely there must be some hot varsity football player or frat boy who you could interview, and if Reid happened to see you subtly flirting… well, it wouldn’t be a bad thing. The problem is, unlike Hotch or even JJ who tend to be upfront about their grievances, Spencer is as passive-aggressive as they come. It comes into full effect when you meet again at the police station, take-out pizza in hand. 

‘Let’s go through what we learned today, Mr Eidetic Memory.’

‘Doctor,’ he corrects, picking up a slice of pizza and shoving it into his mouth to hide the smirk at your exasperated expression.

‘Whatever.’

‘All any of their professors said was that the victims were model students, always seizing extra credit opportunities, making use of office hours,’ Spencer begins. 

‘Extra credit, yeah right,’ you say sarcastically and Reid raises an eyebrow. ‘According to this footballer I was talking to this afternoon, it was rumoured Megan Hinde was sleeping with her history professor to up her grades, and Taylor also suspected Amy Russo was doing the same. From what I gathered, most of the victims were viewed as selfish and ambitious but always acted better than perfect to professors. Two-faced, you might say.’

‘That could be why the unsub is targeting them. Maybe some woman in his life cheated or was similarly hypocritical?’ 

He doesn’t look back over in your direction after you mention Taylor, and for a split second, you are so confused that when it finally clicks you feel giddy with satisfaction. You glance up at the clock on the wall, noticing the chatter of the police station has quieted. 

‘Hey, why don’t you come to the bar with me, Taylor is bringing a friend that might give us some more information.’

You could sense the judgement come over Reid, and perhaps that telltale jealousy, and it only spurs you on. You were going to ride this wave of push and pull till its very end, whatever the outcome may be. He supplies an awkward, apprehensive ‘sure’ alongside all this normal skittish behaviour. It feels nice to know you still have that effect on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> Spencer may or may not be jealous and you may or may not have a plan to mess with him.


	6. Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spencer becomes passive aggressive and you are feeling left out in the cold.

‘I’ll get the drinks, I think this is the one time Hotch would allow you to drink on the job.’

‘It’s okay, I’ll go,’ you counter. ‘I know you don’t want anything.’

‘No, I insist. And anyway, based on our physical appearances, gender, and age, I am less likely to be carded.’

‘And why is that relevant?’

‘I don’t think that Hotch’s order to keep a low profile would condone you flashing your badge in the middle of a crowded bar. It’s okay, I know what you want anyway.’

‘Wait, what about a drivers license or something?’ You’re pushing him, and he knows it, but he only chuckles and with his hands shoved deep in his pockets and with a skim of your outfit, he answers.

‘You have no pockets. So unless it’s in your bra or tucked into the waistband of your skirt, which I can’t see an outline of, I doubt you have any cards or cash on you. How would you buy drinks if you don’t have money?’

It’s with that statement that he walks away, and you flush at the mention of your underwear, matching the one burning its way up to Reid’s cheeks. He feels bad for being aggressive and unprofessional, but ever since you brought up this Taylor character he’s been antsy to call up Morgan for advice. He knows that half of what Derek will say will make him uncomfortable and question their entire friendship, but he is the only person besides maybe JJ he can think to turn to. And he doesn’t want JJ’s sweet ‘just be yourself and allow her space to choose you,’ he wants Derek’s womaniser secrets, as much as he hates to admit it. 

‘What up Pretty Boy, got tired of pining after Y/N or are calling to brag about-’

‘Actually…’ he starts, but he can’t finish the sentence. 

‘So this is about Y/N, isn’t it?’

‘Maybe,’ he admits, albeit reluctantly. ‘I might be needing some advice.’

‘My man! Finally, you don’t know how long I’ve waited for this moment. ’

When Spencer finally reappears, taking what feels like hours to return with your drink that you plan to nurse the entire night, Taylor and her friend Rose have arrived and you are already discussing what they know of the four victims. 

‘We rushed the same sorority together, me and Amanda. She got in but I didn’t. But that’s how she was, you know, a backstabber. She had this manipulative charm that got her whatever she wanted. You’ve heard about her and Professor Richards, right? That’s only something Amanda could get away with.’

‘Did you say Professor Richards?’ Spencer asks, placing your drink down and startling you and the other women. He looks over at them and cocks his head in confusion. Nothing that Derek had said helped when the man he thought he should be jealous of turned out to be a woman. Not that he doesn’t support you either way, it is just a bit of a shock. The way you hide your face from him tells him all he needed to know: you have done this on purpose. 

‘Taylor, Rose, this is my partner, Dr Reid. Spencer, this is the Taylor I was talking about earlier, and Rose here was close with the third victim.’

‘Dr Richards is the history teacher the first two victims were accused of sleeping with,’ he says out loud and the two girls nod.

‘It’s disgusting. He has a wife and everything,’ Rose adds.

‘Use that memory of yours, Dr Reid. What do you remember about your interview with him?’

You can see the wheels turning in his head and prompt him to share them with the group. The two women exchange a dubious expression before Spencer launches into an almost complete transcript of his exchange with the professor. Taylor and Rose look on in amazement as Reid goes through how Richards talked about their perfect attendance and stellar essays. As you listen, there seems nothing too incriminating besides the odd slip up where he talks about them informally and reveals he might know them a little more than the usual teacher. But other than that, by the time Spencer is finished, you can find nothing that implies he killed them or had them killed. Spencer seems to think the same thing.

‘Wow, how did you do that?’ Taylor asks, her large athletic frame leaning in over the table. 

‘I have an eidetic memory and an IQ of 187. I remember everything I’ve ever read and seen, plus most of what I’ve heard, although not for long periods of time. Hearing is actually one of the senses that is easiest to trick, although none, as proven by both philosophers and scientists alike, are completely reliable.’

‘Basically, he’s a genius,’ you supply and the two college girls light up.

What you had hoped would be a cheap trick you could play on Spencer by not revealing that Taylor was a female football player, backfires when you start to fourth wheel as Taylor and Rose ask Reid question after question. They are hardly the shallow flirty type, they are smart, strong young women who are taking the amazing opportunity to pick Dr Reid’s brain, and you cannot blame them for it, but a part of you wants him all to yourself again. 

‘Rossi?’ you ask into the phone. Sitting on your bed waiting for your turn in the shower, you are surprised at receiving a call from the man at this hour. ‘What is this about?’

‘Hotch was too busy to call you this evening so I thought I’d do it myself.’

‘At a quarter to midnight?’

‘Is it that late already?’ you hear Emily slur in the background.

‘Why am I on speaker, and why are you with Emily? Is there something you need to tell me?’ you tease, silently hoping you don't stumble onto the truth. 

‘God no, we just had another wine and pasta night. The whole team is here. So, how’s the case? Spencer given you a reason to slap him yet?’

‘Or shut him up with a kiss?’ you hear Derek yell and it’s so loud you pull the phone away from your ear.

‘Shush, I just heard the shower turn off, Spencer will hear.’

‘Why aren’t you in there with him?’ JJ says, her voice high pitched and giggly from the alcohol. You are glad this is not a video call or they’d never let you off the hook for the startled face you make. You are so caught up in trying to form words again as the team erupts into a continuous stream of innuendos and barked laughter, that you don’t notice Spencer emerging from the bathroom.

‘Who are you talking to this late?’

You are glad of the excuse to cover the microphone and speaker of your phone. ‘Rossi. The team is at his place tonight and he called to check-in. They're all pretty drunk from what I’ve heard so far.’

‘Let me talk to them while you get ready for bed,’ he suggests with his hand outstretched. You trace his earnest expression, juxtaposed with the lack of emotion in his voice, and the droplets of water that splash off his nose from his still soaking hair. It’s a little too attractive to stare at for too long. 

‘No, no, it’s okay, I was just about to hang up on them anyway.’

You hear a faint, ‘sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-’ but you hang up before they reach the end. 

You find it hard to sleep that night. The darkness is cut only by the glow of the streetlights slipping through the flimsy blinds. On the other bed, Spencer is curled up, clutching a pillow with a crisp book, it’s spine not even broken, clutched in one loose hand. He must have bought it today and somehow fell asleep before he got even a third of the way through, which even at his worst was hardly more than fifteen minutes. You had distracted yourself with endless scrolling as your mind slipped away, not noticing when his lamp switched off. 

But now, in this tender moment when the lines of his face smoothed, his hair curling gently across the white sheets, you understand why despite every reminder, despite every harsh word he says, you can never stop thinking about what it would be like to slide out from under your comforter and under his. To be that fluffy pillow, to be as loved as his most worn book. For those fingers that skim the page to trace themselves up and down your body. 

It takes a horrible nightmare and waking to your own sleep talking for you to meet his eyes across the great divide between the two beds. He props himself up on one elbow, running a hand through his hair with a concerned expression. You feel like crying. Silently, in the dim of early dawn, you crawl in next to him, not daring to look him directly in the eye. The intimacy of his arms cradling you as you slip slowly into slumber only stretches so far. 

In a troubling moment that triggers the dwindling memory of the nightmare, you feel the clutching of male arms and think of those nights when protectiveness turned into possessiveness. You think of Ben and jerk wide awake. It’s hard to remember that he has no control over you when you still feel his grasp.

And when the light returns and you realize that at some point you must have fallen asleep, Spencer is gone.

He reappears soon with a coffee and a pastry in each hand. You eat yours over the paper sleeve it comes in, propped up in your bed as if nothing happened last night. Wearing his usual layers of wool and eclectic patterns, Spencer reviews the ME reports and crime scene photos, although you all reviewed them back at Quantico. He seems puzzled, hunched over near the end of the bed. His nose scrunches and you take it as a sign he’s discovered something. 

‘What did you find?’ you ask and he jumps a little in surprise.

‘None of the women were sexually assaulted.’

‘So he’s probably not a sexual sadist,’ you state although Morgan mentioned this already at the round table. 

‘Yes, but the rest of the evidence has all the markings.’ 

‘Spence, out with it.’

‘I think the unsub might be a woman.’

‘But this killing method is hardly ever associated with women, even with rage killings. They use impersonal methods like poison or a gun.’

‘That’s true, but the intense bludgeoning contrasted with the apparent well-planned premeditation has me thinking that there might at least be a woman involved.’

‘The woman being the dominant who forces the man to kill her targets for her,’ you complete his thought for him. ‘That changes things.’

‘I think I need to question Dr Roberts again, he’s our only connection between the victims.’

Your phone pings showing a text from Garcia with a new victim: Rose Winterson.

‘Not any more,' you announce with a crack in your voice. 'Rose, the girl we met last night, is victim number five.’

If your first trip to the morgue was hard, this was ten times worse. Over the last month, you had gotten over most of your squeamishness and had gone to crime scenes and the coroner’s office when ordered. But to see the bluish corpse of lovely women you were speaking with less than twelve hours ago is heart-wrenching. A wave of nausea rolls through your body and you make to slip away again while Spencer talks to the medical examiner. 

‘Hey, Y/N, are you okay?’

‘I’ll be fine.’ 

A stubbornness takes over and you walk over to stand by his side, swallowing the bile rising in your throat. The doctors, medical or otherwise, continue with their evaluation of the force necessary for the blows to be deadly and have this amount of impact. 

‘So you don’t think it could be a woman?’ he asks the medical examiner and in the same moment his pinky finger brushes against the back of your hand. Instinctively you turn your palm and interlock your hand with his. 

‘It’s not likely. The position and strength of the blows mean that the killer was taller than the victim and much stronger.’

‘How much taller? Can you do a rough estimate?’ you ask, the comfort of Spencer’s thumb rubbing circles on the back of your hand gets you over the queasiness. 

‘Roughly, very roughly,’ the man warns, ‘At least five inches taller,’ 

The first place your mind goes is to last night. Rose was petite but not tiny, plenty of people, especially men, were five or more inches taller. But Taylor, despite not being super tall for a woman, was securely above the average height, and strong at that. Maybe Spencer was right and there was a female involved, and you had befriended her. This would be your chance to solve a case and rub it in the BAU’s face. Who else would have come up with this theory?

‘It is just a theory, Y/N, you can’t actually think that Taylor killed her friend like this? And what motive would she have for killing the other four women?’

‘Jealousy? She could be in love with Dr Richards.’

‘She's a biology major on a sports scholarship, she doesn’t have him as a teacher and the chances of them meeting are too slim to warrant investigation,’ his voice is raising but remains level. It’s scary in a Hotch sort of way, not a Morgan way. His temper builds, it never breaks cleanly. 

‘Come on, doc, stop being patronising. You’re not even putting in the effort of calculating the actual statistic.’

Your theory is becoming more and more unfounded and you both know it.

‘Five point six per cent,’ he recites, returning to the beginnings of a geographical profile. 

Today is being spent in the police station and you are not enjoying it one bit. You want to ask him how he came up with that number, you want to hear a thousand more words tumble out of that mouth. Some intellectual, some sweet, some whispered into the shell of your ear, so faint you can only make out half the words yet the meaning instantly makes your breath hitch. He pays no attention to your fantasies as you space out and stare at the different crime scene photos until they blur together.

‘We should be working under the assumption that Rose was killed because she gossiped about the other vics and Roberts, meaning most of the profile still stands,’ you mumble, drifting back to reality, your heartbeat ricocheting in your chest as you try not to stare at Reid while he licks his lower lip. 

‘You should probably talk to Taylor again and get Garcia to pull CCTV from the bar last night,’ Reid replies in a noncommittal tone as if he is saying it just to get it out of the way. 

Gritting your teeth as he refuses to look at you, focusing on his stupid little pins and maps instead, you storm out of the station. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> As you close in on the killer (or killers), pulling a risky move might just be the thing to bring you and Spencer closer.


	7. Isn’t It Always The Husband?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As you narrow in on the Unsub, your relationship with Spencer continues on its fickle path.

It takes two days to narrow in on the unsub. In that time your relationship with Spencer remains tense and almost non-existent. You talk when the job demands it, but mostly you work out of the hotel room or spend the day on campus trying to stir up new leads while Spencer stays at the police station. The deputy, thankfully, after Spencer spoke with him man-to-man, has at least not voiced his disgusting thoughts out loud but you are still forced to ignore lustful stares. 

Spencer feels helpless. Derek told him to be a gentleman because that is what women like you want from men like him. Morgan knows that Reid is and never will be a lady’s man, but at his current level, he will stay as dry as a desert while you gradually lose interest. But in all practicality, it’s a bit hard to be chivalrous when the woman you are trying to court is an FBI agent who doesn’t need help opening doors or being walked home. And it doesn’t help that you share a hotel room. On one hand, he has tried ardently to remain on your good side through thoughtful actions, and yet when he speaks all he says is passive-aggressive bullshit and he doesn’t know how to turn that filter off. He is sending you mixed signals and it’s only making you uncomfortable. 

‘Penny, you’d better be a licensed therapist and a hitman because at the moment I don’t know if I need you to shoot Spencer or talk me out of doing it myself.’

‘Oh honey, what has he done this time?’

‘Nothing! That’s the problem.’ You hope that she can hear your wild hand gestures over the phone because they add a lot of emphasis to an otherwise pitiful sentence.

‘Y/N, I don’t think with a guy like Reid you can really expect much. He is probably putting all his energy into simply speaking to a pretty girl like you.’ 

It’s true but it’s not what you wanted to hear. 

‘But, the good news is that I just finished snooping through that sleaze bag professors phone to try and find if he was having an affair with any other students, and it turns out that it was only those four. The only other female number on his phone is his wife’s.’

‘So the killings might be over. Thanks, Garcia,’ you say in goodbye.

‘His poor mother, though. Why doesn’t he ever call his mother? Or sister for that matter?’

‘I don’t know, Pen, men are trash.’

‘Preach, sister,’ she adds before ending the call.

‘Wife, but no mother or sister,’ you mumble to yourself as you turn back towards the evidence board. ‘Wife, but no mother or sister. Oh my God, why didn’t we think of it sooner!’

‘Think of what sooner?’ Reid asks from over your shoulder.

‘The wife! We never spoke to the wife!’

‘You mean Natalie Roberts?’

‘Yes, I mean Natalie Roberts! She could be the female unsub.’ You are already halfway to the door as Spencer runs to catch up. ‘I always knew it was jealousy. It always is when sex is involved. Spencer, please tell me Natalie has a brother.’

‘Dean Monroe, aged 34, recently fired from his job as a mechanic in a town 28 minutes away. Do you think that’s who’s killing the women?’ 

You smile as the information spills from his lips and his face scrunches in confusion.

‘It makes sense, Reid. The wife learns about her husband’s affairs with what she sees as snakes out to steal her husband. So in order to establish her control over him again, she enlists her brother to help her kill them, possibly through bribery and manipulation. Now all that is left is to punish the husband.’

You're driving but Spencer moves to turn on the sirens. You reach for his wrist to stop him. He wants to go in and arrest her like Hotch has taught him to do, but you have a better idea.

‘We can’t let her know we are coming. I think I can get a confession or more tangible evidence if I go in under the guise of an agent doing a routine visit.’

‘You can’t do that without a wire. Here, I’m going to call your phone and record the audio so I can monitor the conversation. It should pick up most of the conversation as long as you position it in your front pocket, microphone up.’

‘Spencer, my shirt doesn’t have a pocket.’

‘Okay, okay, um,’ he babbles as you pull into a parking space a block away from the Roberts house. ‘Wear my cardigan. It has a suitable pocket.’

‘We might as well both go speak to her then.’

‘No, that won’t work. She will talk more openly without a man present and I need to be at the other end of the line in order to call for backup. No, you have to do it.’

He hands you the garment and you slip it on, trying to make it work with the rest of your outfit. You look like a librarian and not the cool kind. But, once you have the phone positioned and your best smile plastered to your face, you agree that this is the best way to catch her red-handed. 

It's the middle of the day on a Tuesday so you aren't fully expecting her to be at home, but surprisingly she answers before you can finish knocking. 

‘Hello. Are you Mrs Roberts?’

‘Yes,’ she replies with a sly smile. She quickly slips into a look of concern but that pleased smile doesn't go unnoticed. ‘Who are you?’

‘I’m agent L/N with the FBI, ma’am. I have some questions I'm hoping you can answer.’

‘Oh, sure dear. Please come in.’

She is clearly putting on this faux 50s housewife persona, but if you weren't a profiler you could have been easily tricked by the sweetness in her voice. She even goes as far as to prepare you a cup of tea and a plate of fresh cookies. You nibble at one politely but avoid the tea, it would have been easier for her to tamper with. 

‘This is about my husband, isn't it? He is always putting his nose in things. I'll have a word with him when he gets home.’

‘This is about your husband, Mrs Roberts, but not in the way you speak of. He has been our leading suspect in the murders of college students. You might have seen it on the news the past month.’

‘Oh yes, how horrible.’

That was the first slip up, not becoming preoccupied with her husband but rather focusing on the crime. You take another bite of cookie before pointing this out.

‘Did you already know of your husband’s involvement?’

‘Of course not. Why would you think that? My Ed would never do such a thing.’

‘You must not have known about his affairs, then,’ you say after a pause. You are getting off on the power you have, on the struggle behind her eyes as she tries to get control over her features and the conversation.

‘Ed was terrible at hiding things.’ 

‘So you must already know that the women he was having affairs with were the ones found murdered. It can't be a coincidence, can it?’

‘Have you arrested him yet? He should be at work,’ she says in a strangled voice.

‘No, we haven't, and we won't. He’s innocent, but you already knew that of course.’

‘This is ridiculous!’ she exclaims. 

‘Because you killed them, didn’t you? The control you once had over your husband was slipping, so you decided to kill those slutty students of his.’ 

‘I don't know what you're talking about.’

‘Oh, but you couldn't do it yourself, could you. No, you had to drag your poor brother into it. But he was your first victim, wasn't he? Ever since childhood, you had him wrapped around your finger.’

‘Dean has nothing to do with this.’

‘Oh, but he does. He killed those women. But what I’m not understanding is why you didn't just kill Ed and get it over with. Us women should support each other, not jump to blaming the other women.’

‘You bitch!’

‘But, that is why I think you were planning to kill him all along. He’s not really at work is he?’

‘These accusations are unfounded.’

‘Hey, Spence,’ you call as you hear him already coming in through the front door with his revolver drawn. ‘Cuff her. I'm going to see if I can find Mr Richards.’

Later, sitting in the trunk of the SUV with the doors open while a swarm of EMTs and police officers cover the Richards' lawn, you lean into Spencer still wearing his cardigan. His head falls over to rest on top of yours. It is as such a contrast to the rest of your interactions the past few days that you feel like crying. 

‘Agent Reid?’ a uniformed officer asks and you both sit up straight.

‘Yes?’

‘Dean Monroe is in custody and Ed Richards just arrived at the hospital. He should make a smooth recovery once they get the last of the poison out of his system.’

‘I told you it would be poison. Natalie Richards was too tidy to ever use a gun. Imagine the mess!’

You both let out a breathy laugh before Reid gets all serious.

‘You do know that we are both going to be in huge trouble when we get back to Quantico. You walked into the house of a sociopathic narcissist with no vest or gun and only me for backup. Hotch is going to be furious.’

‘Ugh, don't make me think about it.’

‘Don’t worry, I would have done the same.’

‘I guess you could say I pulled A Spencer.’

‘What?’

‘A Spencer. I went in unarmed to negotiate like you always do. Except when you do it it is ten times more dramatic because you strip off your kevlar with a gun trained on you while the entire team yells at you to stop.’

He only shakes his head and hops off the SUV and onto the pavement.

‘Come on, let's go home.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> The female agents drag you out to girls night and you reveal all that happened on the previous case.


	8. Peer Pressure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team seems bent on pushing you and Spencer together.

‘So, Y/N, how was your weekend getaway with Reid?’ Emily teases when you make your way back to your desk from Hotch’s office. You try to inconspicuously see if Spencer is close enough to overhear, thankful he is not.

‘Lay off it, Emily, I just got the third-degree form Hotch, I don't need your teasing too,’

‘Fine, but I’m getting the details later, and I mean it.’

You sigh but she lets you go, rolling in her chair back over to her desk. 

‘I’m sorry about her. I should have known that the team would read into things,’ Spencer says as he returns to his desk across from yours. 

‘I should have seen it coming. We’re profilers, after all, we read into everything.’

‘True. Morgan has called me ‘lover boy’ a total of three times in the two hours and twelve minutes I’ve been at work, which is an 89% increase.’

You smile as his eyebrows knit in confusion. 

‘Thankfully, I haven't been nicknamed yet.’

‘Not to your face anyway,’ Spencer says sinisterly, then refuses to acknowledge what he means by it. ‘You should get back to work, we have six times the paperwork because it was only the two of us.’

‘Is that a guess or an actual statistic?’

He looks up at you, an uncharacteristically intimidating glare in his eye. You struggle to maintain eye contact.

‘I never guess, Princess.’

‘Is that what they call me?’

‘I don’t know. I have a terrible memory.’

He doesn't speak to you again until lunch. 

Emily is true to her word and invites you to a girl’s night with the other BAU ladies. 

‘No men, no problems, and lots of booze,’ she announces when you meet her by the entrance to a nearby bar. JJ and Penelope are already inside sitting at a booth and they wave frantically to draw your attention. 

‘Princess!’ Garcia calls and you light up at the nickname. 

‘Hey, Pen,’ you say as you sit down and Prentiss brings round your first drink. 

‘So, we all know what we’re here for,’ JJ hints as you take your first sip. You roll your eyes but the women don't let up. 

‘Come on, Y/N, there is hardly any good drama at Quantico, only horrible murders and the occasional sandwich theft,’ Penny says. 

‘Anderson is still mad at me for that,’ Emily grumbles. 

‘Besides, I already told them about our phone call and now we are in desperate need for more details.’

‘Penelope!’ you hiss. ‘That was a private conversation.’

‘It stopped being private the moment you brought Spencer up. And when you mentioned shooting him,’ she amends. ‘I had to report that to Hotch and HR.’

‘So that's what Hotch was talking about earlier.’

‘Hey, no changing the subject. We all know you shared a room and I need a play by play of every single second of every single night,’ Garcia directs. 

‘Nothing happened, like I already told you.’

‘Yeah right,’ JJ says sarcastically. ‘Your forgetting we’ve known Spence for years.’

You clench at the nickname. Amusement twinkles in JJ’s eye as she catches you shift even the tiniest bit away from her. 

‘I knew it! You call him that too.’

‘Call who what?’ you ask feebly.

‘Oh my God, it's even worse than I pictured.’ Garcia exclaims. 

‘Fine, I’ll tell you everything, you just have to promise me it never leaves this bar.’

‘Promise,’ they say in unison.

‘We, um, might have not slept in separate beds the first night.’

‘I knew it! You guys totally slept together.’ Emily smirks in delight. 

‘In a literal sense, yes. In a euphemism sense, no.’

Emily groans. You distract yourself by stirring your drink with the little black straw.

‘I had a nightmare and I woke him up. The weird thing was we didn't even talk, there was just something in his eyes that signalled something to me… I don't know how to explain it. But he helped me sleep and brought me breakfast, then we never discussed it. And then there was the moment at the morgue and when he gave me his cardigan.’

‘Hang on a minute,’ JJ says. ‘There is a lot to unpack here.’

‘What happened in the morgue?’ Emily asks. 

‘He- he held my hand when I started feeling sick.’

You don't dare meet their eyes but you can sense the glee spread through the table. 

‘He definitely likes you, Y/N, you know how he is about touch.’

‘I know, I know, but he still avoids me most of the time and says the weirdest things that I-’

‘He’s just nervous, princess. But I can promise he is already half in love with you by now,’ Penelope says, placing her hand on yours from across the table. ‘But I think you're going to need to make the first move.’

‘And be bold about it. His IQ of 187 gets slashed to 60 when a pretty girl is involved,’ Emily adds.

‘I mean he is already oblivious as it is, but I don't think he would realize you are flirting with him unless you sounded it out,’ JJ elaborates and you sigh as you think of what it will take to get Spencer to realize your feelings for him. Because hell, you do like him. Ever since that Christmas Eve all those years ago. 

‘I think you should drag him onto a storage room and show him what he’s missing.’

‘Emily!’

But the seed is already planted. 

The next day at work you can't take your eyes off of him. The day goes by slowly but you distract yourself with daydreams. Daydreams that make you squeeze your thighs together through the wool of your slacks. Daydreams that make your insides shiver at the thought that they could come true. Daydreams of that oblivious doctor suddenly lending his intelligence to increasingly sexual situations; like whispering facts about female orgasms while he edges you, pulling away just as you start begging. The aftermath of hiding smiles in the bullpen as Morgan tries to pray the name of the man that left the badly concealed hickeys on your neck. Spencer wearing his purple scarf to hide similar marks. Your underwear is becoming so damp you are scared it will seep through.

Spencer is similarly affected and stays at his desk all day, even eating his lunch there despite confused looks from his coworkers. But he makes no move, and neither do you. You are caught in a never-ending dance that neither of you wishes to part from. There is a yearning, a reminder of the sanctity of feelings. It is overwhelming and you hope he feels it too. That flicker of warmth when his hand brushes against yours when he hands you coffee or lends you a pen. The eye contact that stretches just a little bit too far, that is maintained across rooms like magnets pulling at each other. 

And with every hour that your profiler coworkers have to endure this, they go a little madder inside. That is until Hotch requests volunteers to perform custodial interviews with imprisoned murders and violent offenders. It was these interviews that first launched the BAU and it was one of the aspects of the job that fascinated you the most. Both JJ and Hotch have commitments to their families and Emily is excused because of ongoing treatment after Doyle. That leaves you, Rossi, Reid, and Morgan. 

‘I think you should go, L/N. I’ve often found that a womanly presence either makes serial killers uncomfortable or loose-lipped. Both are equally helpful,’ Rossi supplies and Reid’s head perks up like he has something to add. 

‘Okay then, L/N, and two more,’ Hotch says ‘We might need someone to fill her spot if he clams up.’

‘Me and Wonder Boy will go,’ Morgan says before either Spencer or Rossi can say anything.’

‘Good. Come pick up your case files, then you can be on the plane in 30.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> Flirting with a coworker is much easier than flirting with a mass murderer.


	9. Fantasy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spencer begins to reveal another side of himself.

Morgan has a shit-eating grin on his face as you and Reid file in on the plane. Spencer had gone to print off physical copies of the case file while you gave yourself a mini pep talk in the bathroom; this was your first custodial interview and Hotch and Rossi had made it seem like you would be playing a pretty important role. Once again, all Derek sees are two nervous coworkers arriving badly staggered after being gone for five minutes.

‘We need to stop doing this,’ you mumbled to yourself. 

‘Doing what?’ Spencer asks when he sits next to you. Derek has put in his headphones and is spread out on the couch but still keeps slyly glancing over.

‘Arriving only a few minutes apart. It’s making Morgan think we are off having sex.’

A look of alarm takes over Reid’s features, followed closely by embarrassment. 

‘But I was only gone for 4 minutes and 52 seconds,’ he says stunned, staring off as if evaluating every one his actions stretching back years. 

‘Exactly. It’s got me thinking about how satisfied the girls he hooks up with are after only five minutes, because he seems to think its enough time for foreplay and everything,’ you whisper with a smirk and uncomfortable surprise lights up on Spencer’s features again before he gives you a conspiratorial smile and the movement of his hands prepares you for upcoming facts.

‘It takes the average woman 13 minutes to reach orgasm.’

‘So you’re saying unless he has a magic dick or something...’

‘Not in those such words.’

‘Oh, of course, you would never say dick, only the correct anatomical word.’

He supplies an awkward chuckle before pulling out a worn edition of Jane Eyre. Seeing him read though that book, his fingers tracing down the page, warms your heart until you almost forget about where your flying until Derek comes to sit down on the other side of the table and the three of you begin to prepare for the interview with a man who killed half the cheerleading squad in his hometown because his high school girlfriend became engaged to another man. 

‘He’s not a serial killer, he’s a mass murder like that guy who killed all those nurses.’

‘Richard Speck,’ Spencer contributes. ‘And because he is, we need to take a slightly different approach. The agents that interviewed Speck talked about the injustice of him taking all those ‘ripe bitches’ out of the world,’ he says matter of factly, just as he always does when delivering facts from the deep crevices of his brain. 

You and Morgan exchange wide eyes at Reid’s swearing.

‘What did they say again?’ you ask and Morgan coughs to cover a laugh.

‘Ripe bitches?’ His face scrunches before he looks up at you and Morgan pressing your lips together to try to not grin. ‘Oh.’

‘Well, we should go under the assumption that L/N or I will have to create that sort of dialogue with him.’

‘Why not me?’ Spencer asks, feeling left out. ‘I’ve read all the transcripts of the conversations with Speck and all the other serial killers.’

‘I just don’t think I can hear you swear and keep a straight face,’ you say through a laugh. ‘It’s like a baby learning it without knowing the context.’

There is a reassuring presence that came with two tall FBI agents flanking you on either side. You hold your head high, trying to block out the gnarled anticipation that twisted in your stomach. Spencer’s hands brush yours at one point, right before you hand in your gun and badge, and just that glimpse at a touch is enough to stir up that doubt. The doubt about whether he is being hostile to you or is simply terrible at hiding that he likes you. 

‘Don’t let him see you before one of us calls you in,’ Derek warns when he catches you biting on your lip. You are mulling over what the three of you had discussed in the plane. You were going to act as bait, come onto him a bit, then slowly begin to show affection to whichever of the other profiles was in with you. Morgan and Reid were going in first, and whoever the prisoner failed to maintain rapport with will be replaced with you. 

‘Don’t let them get to you,’ Spencer adds once you begin to walk past the cells and hundreds of sexually repressed inmates begin to catcall. Morgan chivalrously places a guiding hand on your back and you lean into the touch. 

But it's not until they enter the room where they will be conducting the interview and you are left alone with only a guard in the antechamber that the nerves truly kick in. On the other side of the door, the three men make cautious introductions and Spencer immediately knows how the rest of the interview will play out. 

Gregory Nelson is a sick son of a gun, which is only worsened by his feeling of impotence. He massacred a locker room of cheerleaders just to prove how capable he was. So when he saw Derek Morgan, muscles and all, he grew hostile. Morgan comes through the door into the antechamber with a shrug and you roll your eyes as he says something about losing the opportunity to flirt with you.

‘Go call Garcia, I'm sure she would love to chat up her chocolate thunder,’ you tease as you collect your things and make for the door he just came in through. 

‘Good afternoon,’ you say in a welcoming voice when you enter the room where you are conducting the interviews. You run your hands across Reid’s shoulder as you sit down, tugging on the bottom of your skirt and tucking your hair behind your hair once seated. 

‘And who might you be, little lady?’

‘I’m Y/N L/N.’

You stay focused on skimming your case file. 

‘Eleven in under fifteen minutes. That must be a record,’ you comment, finally giving him the satisfaction of looking directly in his eye. 

‘Actually, the record for the highest casualties in the shortest-’ you cut off Spencer's rambling with a pointed look and a touch of his arm. He pauses and nods, understanding that you will take the lead. 

‘Sorry about him, he tends to get lost in the facts. But that's not what I’m here for.’

‘What are you here for, sweetheart?’ the man drawls, dropping the front two legs of his chair back to the ground. 

‘I want to know why you did it? And how?’ you say as if you are a peppy news anchor in search of the next scoop. ‘I mean, how did you have the confidence to just walk in and...’

‘What are ya? One of those melodramatic fans of mine? Cause I’m not interested.’

‘Really? I'd think a man like you would be used to women fawning over him. Or are you annoyed because you're sick of it? I wish it were like that to me. God, the sea is rather empty of fish at the moment.’

‘What about this guy here,’ Nelson askes with a nod of his chin at Spencer, jealousy begging to be shown. ‘You two seem cosy.’

‘Oh, Spence?’ you say with a voice so bubbly it is almost champagne. ‘He’s like a brother.’ With that you ruffle his hair and gaze adoringly at his jaw, getting a bit lost in your role. 

‘Nah, guys like Dr Reid never get the girl. But you, now you got eleven. I bet you regret not killing more?’

The man remains quiet, instead focusing his attention on blatantly studying your every curve. Spencer grows uncomfortable and clears his throat, gradually working on pulling details from Nelson about his thought process that day, specifically his mental state in the moments directly before and after the murders. It's a game of cat and mouse that Spencer is horrifically losing until he pulls the card you made him promise not to use. 

‘Why did you think you had the right to take eleven tight little virgins out of this world?’ Spencer says as he gets up from his chair and leans over the table, his side brushing purposefully against your shoulder. You have to clench your jaw to prevent any revealing twitches from crossing your face. Reid has taken on a new persona, one you are not fully surprised by. 

Nelson only chuckles. ‘Ain’t none of them virgins.’ 

‘But you didn't rape them, unlike Richard Speck. In fact, you had no control over the situation at all,’ Reid replies. He is no closer to yelling than before and you get a feeling that Spencer is in complete control of himself and the situation. It's intimidating just to sit next to him, but Nelson still isn't squirming, although he has gone abnormally quiet and not in an arrogant way. 

‘Spencer,’ you whisper, for the benefit of both the men in the room. 

Reid straightens, resting one of his hands on the back of your chair, you raise one of your own to rest on his. 

‘I'm so sorry,’ you tell Nelson. ‘He gets worked up.’

You refer to Spencer like he’s a child who is misbehaving. Mostly patronising but with slight amusement as well. And just as you expect, it gets the ball rolling.

‘He couldn't do it. Ya gotta have a clear mind.’ Nelson says. And after that, and some extra questions partway through, he reveals almost everything just so he can see the smile on your face. Spencer stays leaning on the back wall, watching you, fascinated. Nelson has been manipulated to think that he was fighting against Reid for your attention, so when you continually directed your concentration away from Spencer and to Nelson he couldn't help but try anything to keep it, including spilling everything. 

But, as a final cherry on top, as you get up to leave, you kiss Spencer on the cheek, stage whispering ‘thank you, babe,’ and exiting just as Nelson yanks angrily on the chains around his wrists. Morgan matches your grin as you meet again in the other room, your heart beating wildly.

‘Good going, princess.’ 

Your grin widens, thanking him. But when you turn to Spencer, a heat building on your face, you can help but giggle at the stain of red that has made it as far as his ears. 

‘Tight little virgins?’ 

He only shrugs, gripping his satchel tight. You exchange glances with Morgan behind his back as the three of you are escorted out of the prison. Who would have thought the innocent doctor had it in him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> Emily may or may not be a prophet and something may or may not happen in a closet.


	10. Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What we've all been waiting for folks, that kiss that supposedly resolves everything.

‘Hey, Reid!’ Emily shouts across the bullpen. ‘If you're getting coffee can you get me a cup too?’

‘Sorry, I’m going to the storage room. I think I managed to connect two cold cases but I need to be sure.’

Your ears perk up. You and everyone else on this floor could hear their exchange, they were practically shouting, but it was the last part that interested you. Perhaps Reid could lead you to where the recent cases are stored, which was hopefully where you could find your parents cold case. Getting up shortly after he disappears down the hall, you hurry after him, glad that he doesn't take the elevator. He turns several times, disappearing down the stairwell and finally arrives at an inconspicuous door that he enters. You attempt to slip in after him quietly but it is to no use, the room is hardly more than two feet square. It is not a room filled with boxes of paperwork but rather mops and brooms. Spencer stands next to the shelf filled with cleaning supplies with his arms folded.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘What are you doing here?’ you answer back. ‘Do you pass the time sniffing paint because that is the only explanation for why you are in here.’

He flinches slightly but gains his bearings again when he says, ‘I’m an FBI agent, I know when someone is following me.’

‘I was coming to see if you needed help.’

‘You would have caught up with me a lot sooner if you were. No, you wanted to find out where the recent case files are archived.’

‘I'm guessing they're not in here, then.’

‘Is this about your parents?’ he asks abruptly, a contrast to your attempts at a joking tone. It surprises you into silence. ‘Just what I thought.’

He is standing over you now and moves to get passed. He seems exasperated and increasingly uncomfortable, just as you are at being interrogated in this dark janitors closet. Yet, fighting against your resentments is a wanton feeling of desperation. You watch his lips as he talks and you are becoming mesmerised. 

‘No, wait,’ you say with determination. ‘Do you have a problem with me trying to solve the murder of my own parents?’

‘No, but I do have a problem with you neglecting your duties to do so. Sneaking off when I'm sure Hotch would allow you to do whatever the hell you wanted, recklessly chasing after a killer included. I've seen how Hotch babies you and I'd say it was nepotism that granted you a spot here except your parents are dead and you really should be thanking me.’

‘What the fuck did you just say?’

He sighs like he’s given up trying to explain quantum physics to a toddler, then makes a move to exit. You stop him with a firm hand to the chest but he refuses to look at you. 

‘I said, _Dr Reid_ , what the fuck did you say, because it sounds to me like your jealous of me being accomplished; of replacing you as the youngest, as the one Hotch looks out for. But guess what genius, he isn’t your daddy.’

‘Shut up, Y/N,’ he hisses. 

‘And it also sounds like you are trying to take credit for my accomplishments as if I didn't work my ass off to get here. It's not like you already have three PhDs, I don't think you really need my pitiful masters in criminal psychology as well.’

His jaw clenches sharply and he is fighting against his own temper. This time his gaze meets yours and you stare boldly back, relishing in the path his eyes take across your lips and down the plains of your chest heaving with anger. His tongue glides over his bottom lip and it's so sexual you question your entire image of him. 

‘Who do you think wrote you that glowing reference?’ he taunts. ‘Who vouched for you to Hotch so that you would be put on this team straight out of the academy, because that doesn't happen. Ever. No one gets to just suddenly work for the BAU with no experience.’

‘Except for you,’ you grit as you process all that has been said. One of his arms is pressed against the wall and the other comes to tug at his hair. You follow the path of his hand before it comes to rest in his pocket again. 

‘I never asked you to do that Spencer. You can't blame me. And it is so demeaning that you didn't allow me to work my way here on my own merit alone.’ 

He only chuckles as you edge forward, trying all the key behavioural tricks for displaying confidence and calmness. But he sees right through them. Your voice has grown hoarse and your gaze is not meeting his for more than a few seconds at a time. He is feeling the same unease, but he has your back against the door and is forced to back away. He returns to himself, his hands sheepishly tucked in his pockets, his head slightly bowed. 

‘You stalked me for six years.’ It’s not a question, it's a declaration. One of accusation but also confusion. 

‘I’m sorry, Y/N. I should have known that this is how you’d react.’

He is so suddenly earnest it hurts. 

‘Oh, Spencer.’ You reach for his arm and he twitches at the contact.

‘I can’t be mad at you when I did the exact same.’ You let out a breathy laugh and his eyebrows furrow in confoundment. ‘Have you not read my dissertation? I mentioned you twice.’

He stares down at you in awe; a joyful, bewildered haze blinding him with surprise. His lips part, tripping in an attempt to speak. You seize the moment, sliding your hand up to his neck as you press your lips to his, allowing him time to catch up. He returns the kiss, desperately cupping your face and bringing you closer. The dark of the closet is no longer a prison but a shelter, and when you pull away his eyes are deep and endless, so consumed by adoration you are frightened by the weight of his gaze. He mumbles your name and you whisper his back, knowing no other words to speak into existence. 

This time, when you return to your desk, with Reid only minutes behind you, it is purposeful.

That night, after agonising hours spent fighting against the urge to stare at the man at the desk across from yours, you return home happier than you have been in weeks. Spencer walks you to your door, promising to pick you up in the morning as well. He kisses you once, then twice goodbye, making your toes curl like a schoolgirl. You spend the night lost in daydreams, spinning different versions of the event that transpired in that storage room. Would he have kissed you unprompted? Would it have been mid-argument to shut you up, or in that fleeting moment of peace, his lips hovering tantalisingly above yours as you lose your patience? And if you bit his lower lip would he have gripped your ass and pressed you hard against the door so that it rattled in its hinges or would he groan and nip right back? How far would you have let it escalate?

This is how you fall asleep, replaying the sweetness of his kisses and all the possibilities they hold. And in the morning, when the light jolts you awake before your alarm, you feel giddy as you wait, excited to see Spencer again. You think of questions to ask him, ones that will lead to rambles that will last the entire car ride. Sitting on your couch with a bowl of cereal, you don't notice what was shoved under your door. But when you do, as you make sure your go bag is repacked and placed by the entry, it makes you freeze. 

It's a photo of you and Spencer outside your apartment. His hand is holding yours and that is the only part of him visible, the rest has been completely scratched in gaged, violent lines. 

But while the picture and its mutilations are horrifying, it is rather the truth it brings with it that makes you shiver. All those missed phone calls from blocked numbers that ring to voicemail but then never leave a message. Your constant unease around your open windows. The feeling of being watched when you get your morning coffee. It all ties together. 

You have a stalker, and by the looks of it, they really don't approve of your relationship with Dr Spencer Reid. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> When the team bets on when you and Spencer will get together, Hotch makes an interesting choice.


	11. Dates and Bets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the tin

The next Monday, Hotch can sense that something is wrong and the worst part is he hasn't figured out what has happened yet. There is confusion in the apparent happiness of Reid and the secret glances between Prentiss and JJ that result not in any romantic endeavours but rather an increase in the length of their coffee breaks that coincide with Y/N’s. But you don’t have the same aura of glee that the rest of the bullpen occupies. Rather, you grow weary, staring out into space with a blank look that could be easily misconstrued with daydreaming, but is probably more accurately attributed to reliving memories, and not pleasant ones either. His team needs a new case, and fast. His hunch that something is afoot is only reinforced when Dave comes in spouting some nonsense about a betting pool. 

‘I’ve got twenty on three weeks,’ Rossi says slyly, his head tilted expectantly.

‘You’re betting on a colleague's romantic relationship? Dave, you must know how inappropriate that is.’

‘Hey, I didn't start it, I'm just putting my luck to good use. Can I put you down for twenty on a month?’ he says with his eyebrows raised.

Hotch glances up from his paperwork, entertaining the possibility. 

‘Fifteen on last week.’ 

Rossi looks at him like he suddenly started tap dancing, but nods with a knowing smile and returns to the bullpen to relay the news.

‘Last week?’ JJ asks. ‘Does he think they are already together?’

‘I don't know, he could be right. Wonder Boy looks pretty pleased with himself today,’ Garcia responds. She has bet on you getting together this week and is feeling pretty confident until the profilers begin to pick at your behaviour and conclude that you look far too forlorn for it to be a possibility. 

‘Maybe something happened between them that got misconstrued. Reid may have taken it as a sign for good, while Y/N took it bad,’ Emily adds. She has bet thirty on a month, and she is keeping her hand close to her chest. From the last few conversations she’s had with you, she is confident that something romantic must have happened but that it will take weeks for the two of you to jump the hurdles necessary to actually start dating. Rossi may call her cynical, but she believes herself to be realistic. 

‘They were gone for a suspiciously long time Friday afternoon,’ Derek ponders. He bet on the week after next, hoping against hope that that gives him enough time to force them together. 

‘But Y/N looked just as happy as Spence on Friday. Did you see them leave together? It must have happened over the weekend,’ JJ counters. JJ’s bet on next week, deciding that this is her moment to put all her matchmaking skills to good use. Her and Garcia know enough about both yours and Spencer’s feelings to believe that it will happen soon. 

Unaware of the cluster of profilers discussing your romantic life, you get up to grab the yoghurt you brought as a snack, fully expecting Emily and JJ to corner you at the fridge. They have been acting weird lately, praying a little too much into your private life. But instead of the two female agents, Spencer surprises you by the sink, almost making you drop your yoghurt as you turn to walk back to your desk.

‘We need to talk,’ he urges, that endearing awkwardness taking over as he runs his hand up and down the strap of his bag.

‘Do you want to go for lunch?’ you ask as you grab a spoon, unaware of the flash of wonder that the young agent feels at the nonchalance that you say that sentence as if he hadn't been working up the courage to ask the same thing for over ten minutes and probably would have chickened out at the last minute. 

‘Yeah, um, sure. There is this new sushi place 0.68 miles from here with an average rating of 4.2,’ he says and you grin at him when he realizes how weird it must sound to just know things like that. It's useful, but boy does it take you by surprise sometimes. 

‘Sounds good, Reid.’

You leave Spencer in your wake as he tries to remember the last time you referred to him only by his last name. That is what Hotch calls him. Lately, you have taken to calling him Spence, or jumping on the nicknames that Morgan comes up with, although you always say them in a way that makes them sound less like mockery and more like compliments. And when you call him Doctor it instantly makes it the best day of his entire week. 

The sushi is good but it leaves you wondering how it truly deserved that 4.2 Spencer mentioned. It is a 3.7 at best. However, out of that impromptu lunch comes much more than an affinity for judging raw fish.

‘Is this our first date then?’ you ask and Spencer drops the roll he had worked for ages to finally pinch between his chopsticks. 

‘I guess it is,’ he says with a childlike marvel, his features smoothing out into happiness. 

‘Why did you suggest this place, Spencer? Although, I am glad that I’ve discovered something Wonder Boy isn’t good at,’ you say with a glance down to where he is trying to fish his roll out of the soy sauce.

He just looks up at you, silently daring you to profile him to get your answer. Goodness, he will be the death of you. It's not hard to draw conclusions. That he did this to make you happy, that he is so utterly selfless that he would risk hunger and embarrassment just to see you smile. 

‘On August 21st you said sushi was one of your top five favourite foods. On September 9th you complained to Jennifer about how you are missing not being able to go to your favourite sushi place back home. And only last week you professed interest in finding a good lunch spot close to the office,’ he lists, his hands motioning rapidly, ending with that signature smile with his lips drawn tight. You can't help but grin back. 

‘They will know about us by the end of the week,’ you state, giggling as Spencer’s nose scrunches. ‘They are profilers and right now you are terrible at controlling your micro-expressions. Do I really have that big an effect on you, doctor?’

Spencer shifts under your gaze and you admire the waves of amusement that take over his face. ‘Is that a bet? Because you should know I’m from Vegas and I never lose.’

‘We’ll see about that,’ you joke in response as you slip the two wooden chopsticks out his fumbling hands, binding the ends together with a hair tie before returning them. Spencer smiles appreciatively and successfully brings a California roll to his mouth with a triumphant grin. 

‘Thank you,’ he says through the rice in his mouth. ‘Isn’t it fascinating how different culture’s cutlery evolve alongside the diet and...’

You never hear the end of his sentence. Over Spencer’s shoulder, and only for a moment, you spot a familiar t-shirt stretched across a familiar back and it sends your body into some kind of emergency state as your heart beats frantically to keep you alive. Your lungs dry out, while your brain seems to be drowning. In your periphery, you see Spencer’s motions, but they are a haze that you dodge to trace the last inch of disappearing cotton. 

‘Are you okay?’ Is what finally shatters the focus. ‘What were you looking at?’

He whips around, and by the time he looks back at you again, you offer no signs of distress. You have trained yourself over the years to cover up the heartbreak. To endure the shocks of panic with a smile. 

‘Sorry, I thought I saw someone I recognised. It's nothing.’ You return to the meal. ‘What were you saying about, um, cultural cutlery?’

You are reluctant to go home that evening, staying almost as late as Hotch until your hunger and sleep deprivation guide you like a zombie to your car. But that feeling of autopilot disintegrates when you see that a new photo has been added to your collection, bearing all the same scratches. This time it's from only this afternoon, a blurry photo of Spencer opening the car door for you after your lunch date. His entire body is marked and destroyed. But this time there is writing, done in black pen in all caps. 

‘ **MINE** ’ it says over your head. It’s underlined several times. 

You have taken to calling your stalker ‘ _that motherfucker.’_ It removes the stigma, placing the anger on him. Plus when you whisper it under your breath you get half the stares you would if you mumbled something about a stalker, especially at work. There is no need to rope the entire BAU in yet, not when it has been pretty mild compared to some of the things you’ve seen during your job.

In fact, it doesn't scare you much.

However, it has made you skittish and quick to jump to conclusions, something that is quickly proven when you come into work the next day. You place your bag on your desk next to a case file that makes you hurriedly scour your colleagues’ desks, but none of them have anything similar. It's dated six years ago. Flipping the cover open slightly, you reveal photos of the crime scene and you sink numbly into your chair. _How could that mother fucker have gotten it? How did they break into Quantico? How do they know about your parents’ death?_

‘Hey, are you okay, Y/N?’ You sharply look up to see Spencer hovering at the side of your desk. He sees your shaking fingers clutching the edge of the case file and immediately begins rattling out apologies.

‘You put this here?’

‘I thought we could work together to solve it. But maybe it's too soon, you look shaken.’

‘No, no, I appreciate the help, I just didn't know who put this here. The rest of the team only knows so much and I’d like to keep it that way.’

‘Of course. I’m sorry, I should have asked you first.’

‘I’m fine Spence, and it's a kind gesture. Maybe I can come over tonight?’ you say, leaning in. You glance to make sure no one is watching before you reach out to slip your hand down his tie, pulling it out from behind his cardigan. His eyes widen and he frantically tucks his tie back in, but the fact he hasn't taken his eyes off of you tells you all you need to know.

‘To work on the case, Wonderboy, don't get your hopes up,’ you say with a smirk. ‘Besides, I’d like to see what your place looks like. I’m imagining you can't even walk through it because there are so many books.’

He chuckles. ‘You're not wrong.’

‘Hey, Morgan,’ you call when you see the agent saunter into the bullpen. ‘Have you ever been to Spencer’s apartment? I want to prepare myself just in case it's located above a strip club or painted bright pink.’

‘Can't say that I have, jailbait.’ he heckles back. ‘But I don't think you will be seeing more than his bed this evening if he’s invited you over.’

Spencer has begun to crimson and you are not faring much better, but you maintain your bearings as Derek nears.

‘She invited herself over!’ Reid exclaims, obviously not appreciating the insinuations. 

You simply roll your eyes, making sure that Derek suspects nothing more than playful teasing, and say a quick ‘see you tonight, Reid,’ before you walk over to your desk.

‘She is so into you, Reid,’ Morgan says with a nudge as Spencer pulls his gaze from tracing your figure as you walk away. ‘And you are so whipped.’

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> You and Spence try and fit in a relationship around working your parents' case and working for the BAU


	12. Is It Even A Secret Any More?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Are you and Spencer getting closer, or are you still pushing each other away?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter introduces some adult themes including mild smut. The following chapters will begin to include canon typical violence, specifically against the main characters with talk of Reid's drug addiction and the increased threat of your stalker.

‘So what do we have so far?’ Spencer asks as he settles down at his kitchen table with his files in hand. 

‘Well, the main line of investigation was into who had knowledge of the alarm system and was able to sneak into the house only moments after I left. The initial ME report says that they were killed only half an hour after I left to go shopping,’ you explain, settling down next to him with a glass of wine. 

‘And how long were you gone for?’

‘Few hours,’ you say with a shrug. ‘I grabbed lunch while I was out as well. It was the one time I had to myself almost all break and I wanted to make it last. If only I had known...’

‘Y/N if you knew you might be dead as well.’ He lays his hand on yours but you slip it away in order to bring your drink to your mouth. 

‘I know, I just wish I could have done something, anything. They were strict but they were still my parents and nobody deserves to die like that.’

‘Going back to the alarm, who could have possibly known the code or had a spare key?’

‘Our neighbours house-sat sometimes, but the code was constantly being changed and my parents always asked for the key back afterwards.’

‘Someone still could have had a copy made.’

‘Do you think the Reynolds do it? They were a middle-aged couple just like my parents. And besides, I already looked into all the neighbours, there are no leads.’

‘What about the one you left the police station with?’

‘Ben?’ you ask, a bit surprised he remembers. But of course he does, why wouldn't he? ‘No, it couldn’t be him, he had no reason to. And besides, we dated all the way through college, I would have known if my boyfriend killed my parents.’

Your cold dismissal does not end Spencer’s thoughts, but it does stop him speaking them aloud. The night continues in a similar fashion, you providing him with evidence and your own insights while he pieces together a makeshift profile. But that is all that happens. He knows that you said earlier that you were coming over only to discuss the case, but he was still hoping after all the take-out was eaten and you had gravitated from the kitchen to the couch, that it wouldn't be a far leap to turn a kiss goodnight into a fierce one that leads to you dragging him to bed by his tie. 

But nothing like that occurs, and Spencer finds himself alone in his apartment, once again wondering what he has done wrong to make you act this way. For the entire first month of his acquaintance with you, you were either giving him the cold shoulder or flirting with him, giving him whiplash It just didn't make sense. And now here you are, one moment entirely dedicated to the blossoming relationship, the next running away and letting his calls go to voicemail. It has been a week since you first kissed and he still hardly knows how you feel. 

‘It has to happen this week. They are practically dating already. Did you hear about their lunch the other day? Spencer took her out for sushi. Sushi! He hates sushi!’

‘Come on baby girl, you just don't want to lose the money you bet. This new dress looks awfully expensive.’

Penny only wacks him on the arm and turns to speak to Emily. ‘You might be right. At the rate they are at we won't see a wedding for close on a decade.’

‘I wouldn't go to such extremes. Once they get together I'm sure it won't be long before Spence proposes, he is half in love with her already,’ JJ replies as Emily smugly sips from her steaming cup. 

‘At least we can all agree that Hotch is wrong. There is no way they got together last week.’

And, from the profiler's perspective, it could seem to be true. Spencer could often be found smiling to himself, getting caught in the web of his thoughts a lot more than usual. JJ had also noticed that he was more conscious of his looks, straightening his favourite tie and repeatedly smoothing his hair. He also spent far more time at his desk than usual. Although Spencer found comfort in ploughing through tasks, he also became restless and had a habit of getting up to do arbitrary tasks like getting coffee of picking up someone’s printing to clear his head. You on the other hand, while also spending a little more time than usual in front of the mirror this morning, as shown by the use of both lip liner and lipstick Prentiss had picked up on, had taken on Reid’s restlessness. You were straightening your skirt repeatedly not to fix it but out of compulsion, out of a sense of anxiety. The stalking was escalating. New pictures were arriving almost every day and now they all came with creepy messages. Last night a package was even delivered containing lingerie with a note telling you to wear it just for him. At least you assumed it was him. Statistically, most stalkers are. 

‘Y/N?’ you hear a male voice say, bringing you back to earth with a sudden tug of gravity. 

‘Huh?’

Reid gives you a gentle smile. ‘You drifted off again.’

‘Sorry, I'm preoccupied.’

You return to your work, tapping your pen in an attempt to clear your head but it only makes you more frustrated. 

‘I know trying to find your parents killer has been draining, so why don't I take you out for dinner tonight? That Italian place around the corner okay?’ he whispers, making sure he is not overheard. 

‘Sounds lovely, Spencer. Let's hope we don't get a new case in the meantime.’

As if you jinxed it, Hotch steps out of his office with his lips in a hard line, his shoulders rigid under his tailored suit. You sigh and give Spencer an apologetic look.

‘Raincheck.’

The BAU files onto the plane and you already feel that tug of G force, that feeling in your stomach when you go on a roller coaster when your organs seem to be floating while you are being tugged down. This case involves a family annihilator. The father killed his entire family and the FBI has been called in to help with the statewide manhunt. 

You sink into the closest chair, struggling to put back up the shield, but it is not working. Nobody gives you a second look and you know it is purposeful. It is easier to avoid discussing it, to avoid bringing up the reality that you may not be strong enough to endure this case. But Spencer understands, and he sits down next to you, holding your hand out of view, the gentle circles this thumb makes distracting you from reality. The plane ride is agonisingly long, each minute equivalent to a century. Every ten minutes or so you catch one of your colleagues looking at you with concern but they still don't say anything. To put it into words would be to acknowledge it exists. 

‘Morgan, Prentiss, I want you to interview neighbours and the wife’s parents. I need insight into how John Carlise acted over the last week and his marriage to Laura.’

Derek and Emily both nod in affirmation. 

‘JJ, Reid, visit the crime scene.’ Two more nods. ‘And Dave, you go to the ME’s office. L/N and I will get up to date with the other organisations and aid them in guiding their manhunt.’

You don’t see Reid for the remainder of the day, and you guess it's for the best. Hotch keeps you busy with endless faxes and errands as you coordinate with the local police, the field office and giving addresses to the media warning citizens to lock their doors and remain in after dark as well as looking out for the unsub’s make and model sedan. It's incredibly draining. And yet it works and by the time you even have time to process your own thoughts some detective is bursting in with questions or Rossi has returned with the ME report that shows which order the victims were killed in and what that would mean for the killer's mindset.

But, once you are alone again in the dark of your hotel room at half past midnight, you feel like a porcelain doll dangling on the edge of a shelf, waiting for that final slam of the door to make it fall and shatter. A knock comes to the door just as you are finally settling down to sleep, destroying your last shred of sanity left. You choose not to ignore it and rather pounce out of bed ready to give the caller a piece of your mind. Spencer stands agape on the other side as you yank the door open already ready to bite his head off.

‘I’m sorry, did I wake you up? I just wanted to check in and I had to wait until Derek stopped teasing me about you and left.’

‘About me? Do they know yet?’

You stand aside to let him in, rubbing your eyes as he turns away so that he doesn't see how tired you truly are. 

‘I don’t think so. But be prepared for them to force us into a locked room sometime soon.’

‘Well we’ve already done what I can assume they would want us to do in that supposedly locked room,’ you say, making your way into his personal space, tilting your head to look into his eyes. He slips his arm around you, pulling you to his chest and you can sense how tired he is too. He hums and you attempt to suck out the venom of pain from his very blood, strain out the nightmares and ever-present thoughts. 

‘Did you know that the simple act of touching someone has been shown to improve cognitive and emotional development, including reducing susceptibility to depression and reducing some behaviours associated with Alzheimer’s Disease? And that being affectionately touched can even contribute to a stronger immune system?’

‘Is that so, doctor?’ 

‘Do I normally lie?’

‘I don't know, sometimes it all seems too good to be true and I think you are making it all up and the team is just too nice, or perhaps naive, to ever dispute it,’ you say, forcing out a chuckle so he understands that it is all sarcastic. But Spencer hears the slight jolt when you talk about the BAU, hinting at the way you still feel left out. They are each other's family and it's tough to assimilate. He presses you tighter until it is almost physically impossible for there to be any less distance. 

‘You should get some sleep. Most adults need between seven to eight hours of sleep-’

‘And Hotch needs us up in less than six. You are not absolved either, Spencer.’

You break away to sit on the edge of the bed, finicking with the pillows in order to allow Reid to make his choice. He could either leave, guaranteeing that the team suspects nothing in the morning, or he can stay and find mutual comfort in the warmth of your bed. When you look back up he has puppy eyes and a swollen heart. 

‘Are you sure, Y/N?’

‘Are _you_ sure, Spencer?’ you counter, attempting to spur him on. 

He takes the steps that bring him to your side, kissing you as he sits down, bringing you back into his orbit with a gentle tug. Gladly, you follow the motion, bringing your leg over so that you are straddling his lap and hooking your arms out behind his neck. Leaning your forehead against his, breathing in gasps, his head tilting to ghosting tenderly. His hands slide from your waist up across your heated skin to cup under your breasts, a hiss of excitement slipping through your lips just before they reconnect with his. 

You bring him down, careful to rub against him firmly as you guide his lean frame over yours. Your head on the pillows, his hair falling endearingly over his forehead. Your hips buck, relishing in the soft glides his hips are doing against yours, pushing the straining fabric over the growing dampness of your panties. Gently, small sparks travel from where he is stroking your peaking nipples to the surging warmth between your legs. His mouth continues its menstruations on yours but you use your hand to brush his jaw and nudge him away. In that fragile moment, you let the silence speak as much as the desire in your eyes, drawing your legs around his and using the momentum to flip him over. He groans as your sex collides with his again as you settle over him. You are still in your clothes, and he takes the opportunity to push off your sleep shirt till all you are left with is your underwear that is becoming flimsy with throbbing wetness. You do the same, gyrating on his lap as you teasingly unbutton his shirt and peel it off. He groans once you begin to crawl down the bed so you can pull down the slacks you had been fervently grinding on only moments ago. 

‘Y/N,’ he says in a husky voice. You look up at him from under your lashes as he props himself up on his elbows, his hair in beautiful disarray. 

‘Yes, Spence?’ you say in your softest voice but it doesn't soothe his conscious. ‘What is it?’ you say with more sympathy and concern. 

He only stares past you. Abandoning your efforts on his pants, you come to lay beside him, gently stroking his arm in comfort.

‘I just don’t think we are on the same page.’

‘Tonight or in general, because that bulge in your pants tells me…’ you trail out, noticing that faraway look in his eye. ‘I’m sorry, Spence, did I do something wrong? You know I would never-’

‘That's the problem. I can't tell if you are doing it on purpose or subconsciously.’

‘Doing what?’

You are suddenly acutely aware of your lack of dress, and hastily turn back the covers and slip under, tucking the sheet under your arms. Spencer still hasn't looked at you. 

‘Avoiding me, closing yourself off then pretending as if nothing is wrong when you see me again. I’m constantly worrying I've done something wrong, that this is just a game to you. Now I understand why the rest of the team still thinks we aren't together, because I’m not sure if we are either.’

He leaves you speechless, unable to process all that has been said. Unlike that moment in the closet, you know you can't just kiss this better. And the worst part is that you know the reason, you know that you've gotten spooked by the man who keeps sending you those creepy photos and you are unconsciously pushing Reid away. You feel nauseous and sick to imagine what he thinks of you. You have been horrible. 

Soon after that he leaves, padding over to the door without a second look. You lay staring up at the ceiling for most of the night until your alarm sounds and you are jolted back to reality, forced to face the new day ahead. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> Some hard truths are revealed.


	13. Hard Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things begin to fracture (as if they hadn't already)

The next day, Reid volunteers to go with one of the units actively pursuing the fugitive, surprising everyone. Hotch orders Emily to go with him while the rest of the team follows orders. You are the only one left at the station so you mostly talk to Garcia, helping guide her energetic tapping of keys towards useful information. You are in a haze for the rest of the case, like some sort of phantom trailing through the same endless, monotonous hallways. You say what needs to be said, do what needs to be done. And, on the plane home, after the killer is caught and the rest of the team is drunk on adrenaline and the fancy whisky Rossi had hidden away, you restlessly fight against sleep. 

Spencer, being the only one that didn't drink, offers to drive everyone home, so you and everyone else besides Rossi (who calls a car service), Hotch (who still has a meeting with Strauss to get through before he can go home) and Garcia (who had the brilliant luck of leaving work early today because she had already done her part in solving the case) pile into Reid’s old rattling car whose trunk is rusted shut and tires squeak. You now understand why he usually takes the metro, but Morgan refuses to let it go, taking endless guesses about when the car was made. You stay sagging in the back seat between Prentiss and JJ until you are left all alone once JJ is returned home safe and Emily and Derek beg to be dropped off at a local bar. That leaves you and the boy wonder in awkward silence after you climb into the front seat.

‘I think they planned this,’ you speak into the void. 

He stays quiet but you can sense him fighting off a smile. 

‘I know because Derek told me last week that he hated that bar because they don’t have a ladies night.’

‘It’s also rated a 2.9 on Yelp,’ Reid supplies in a monotone voice.

‘First the sushi place and now this. Do you spend your free time reading Yelp reviews?’ you ask. ‘And Garcia told me you don't even like sushi.’

‘I’m a terrible cook,’ he says as if you will read between the lines and gather that he thus eats a lot of takeout, which you do.

Spencer focuses on the road, probably calculating the different routes he can take and which one will be the fastest. You stare out the window, getting lost as he takes roads you’ve never taken and both speeds and then pauses for a superfluous amount of time at every stop sign. When he finally parks outside your apartment and you yank your go-bag out of the footwell, he awkwardly stands on the sidewalk debating how far he will take his chivalry. You have spent the past few days in an unstable limbo. The two of you spoke without words, bringing coffee and clearing away files, giving enough space to maintain a facade of avoidance but abruptly turning a conversation with the entire group into one between the two of you as you notice everyone else's focus shift away. 

‘I can carry my one bag, pretty boy, but you can walk me to my door if it will clear your conscience.’

He nods and trails after you like a lost puppy, waiting as you turn the key in the lock and open the door. You are just about to thank him for the ride and offer a tight-lipped goodbye when you notice the destruction in your apartment. All the cupboards in your kitchen are ajar and your box of cereal is open and strewn about on the floor. The lamps are all on and knocked over, as is the bookcase, its weight is now on the coffee table while the books litter the floor with their pages bent. It looks like someone broke in and had a tantrum, strewing things about simply to cause disarray. Running into your bedroom, you check that your safe is still locked and contains your valuables, which it does, and you place your gun and badge in it. When you go back to the living room Spencer is surveying the damage, bewildered. 

‘We need to call the police, Y/N,’ he announces, and just as you are about to protest, saying that nothing is stolen and you will just get a better lock, you notice the photographs. The dozens of photographs. All featuring you and Spencer in the DC area over the past month. Spencer is almost unrecognisable in all of them. 

You see him pick one up and you run over, yanking it from his grasp but his eidetic memory has already processed every inch and stored it away. He looks up at you with a stunned expression as you try to gather all of the photographs that you can.

‘Has this happened before?’ he asks forcefully, coming to reach for your elbow. You turn away before he can, clutching the photos to your chest as you take in the destruction.

‘It was only pictures before. He’s escalating.’

‘Y/N you're not safe here,’ Reid urges. ‘Why didn't you say anything? The team could have tracked this guy down by now.’

He is as panicked and scared as you are, but while you are stock still, still trying to come to terms with things, Spencer is frantic. 

‘You are not safe here. Let's call the police then I will take you to my place.’

‘No, no,’ is all you manage to get out. ‘No Spencer, I can't let you do that.’

‘What are you talking about? Is this why you have been pushing me away? Because like I said we can help you.’

‘I need you to leave!’ you snap, suddenly meeting his eye. 

‘Y/N-’

‘You need to leave. This - us - whatever we were, you were right, it's over. Completely. He is doing this because of you. You need to leave.’

‘Y/N you know that isn't true.’

‘Reid, leave now before I physically force you out. We are over.’

And he leaves, just like you asked, but it feels hollow. You are stuck in a paradox where you hoped for more of a fight, yet at the same time, it would only have aggravated you if he continued to push. Numbly you begin to clean up, but soon you are forced to the ground with violent sobs, as you lean against the closest wall for a semblance of support. It's in this position that you wake up with a pinched nerve from sleeping on the floor and a pounding headache

JJ and Garcia are bitter the next week when everyone comes back into work, realizing that their bets are wrong, but Derek still seems giddy hoping that his plan worked. You and Spencer have been screaming ‘unresolved sexual tension’ and he decided that he would take it into his own hands and put you into a car in the middle of the night in the hopes that that tension would be resolved, sexually. Emily is still content to play the long game, while Rossi has gotten antsy, realizing that his three-week estimate is probably not right. 

Hotch has remained quiet, although as the weeks pass he gets more and more evidence that his wildcard guess will not get the dramatic reveal that he first thought it would be. While he is sure something happened three weeks ago, he still hasn't figured out what. But all hope is lost when you and Spencer don't even speak a word to each other the Monday back. And the BAU is in despair when Spencer snaps at Garcia, proving even to the densest person that something bad happened. 

‘Hey Reid, what was that about!’ Morgan exclaims when Reid storms away. Prentiss notices that you haven't even looked up at the commotion, as if you anticipated that Spencer would have a reason for his temper to flair. As if you are the reason. Instead, your jaw is rigid and you leave down the hall to the bathroom without a word. Emily follows, knowing that answers need to be given voluntarily before Hotch calls you and Spencer into his office and demands them. 

‘Y/N,’ you hear a voice call, echoing through the stalls. You raise your feet up but Emily catches the motion, her heels clicking on the tile as she nears. You silently pray for her to leave you to your solitude, to say, _nevermind I will give you space_ , and leave. That has been your constant wish for the past week, for everyone to simply leave you alone. Either it hasn't been working or you are grossly underestimating the actual amount of time you have spent sequestered in your apartment. 

‘Please, Y/N, what happened? Reid is acting like he was when he was on Dilaudid and you haven't spoken a word since you entered the bullpen this morning. This isn’t like you. Like either of you. ’

‘Dilaudid?’

You return your feet to the floor, suddenly needing grounding. The door which had only been held closed by your feet pressed against it swings open and Emily is standing on the other side with regret flushing her features. 

‘You didn't know?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> The team learns of some secrets you and Spencer have been keeping.


	14. Kiss And Tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The BAU starts investigating your stalker before it's too late

Emily tells you all that she knows, that he became exposed to it while being tortured by an unsub, that for a couple of years after he fought against his addiction before finally becoming sober. That is why he doesn't get narcotics when admitted to the hospital, that is why he is abnormally anxious about his yearly flu shot. That is why he knows so much about the drug world and the stages of narcotics anonymous. All those small instances that passed you by all now make sense. 

You can sense the struggle in Emily’s voice, and you know if you try and speak it will only come out as a croak. Your throat is dry but your eyes and nose are wet from crying. It is JJ that finds the two of you in this state, sitting on the floor under the sinks, and she locks the door firmly before motherly allowing you to rest your head on her shoulder as she explains what she knows. The truth is that while he had almost gone back to his old habits when he thought Emily was dead, he has been clean ever since you joined the team. They promise that Spencer will understand why they told you but it still feels like you are betraying his trust, listening to his secrets being revealed after you had hardly known him and the team for more than a couple months. 

‘L/N,’ JJ says in that matronly but deeply empathetic voice of hers, ‘what happened?’

You wipe at the streaks of tears, clutching your arms to your chest. 

'We broke up,’ you admit. 

You notice Emily and JJ exchanging baffled looks but give them their privacy. You keep talking to cover the hushed silence. 

‘I don't even think we were exclusive or official or anything. We kissed a few times and went out on a date, but it never amounted to anything but heartbreak. He- he found something out and I had to break it off to protect him.’

‘Why would you need to protect him?’ 

‘Just because,’ is your muttered answer, and thankfully they take it as a final one. 

You hadn't spoken to Spencer for almost a week when the first letter arrived. It is typed up on crisp white stationery and shoved under your door, just like all the photographs. But while at first glance it looks romantic, its contents are horrifying and gruesome, borderline obsessive. Drawing creepy allusions between the colour of your eyes and the body of water he would drown Spencer in, listing off marshes and lakes in the area ranging in colour from a murky brown puddle to midnight blue and practically tropical bodies of water. It is this letter that finally makes you realize how bad the situation is. But when you gather up all the photos and take them into the BAU the next morning, the team is already gathered with sympathetic looks. 

Spencer told them before you had a chance. 

‘Sit down L/N,’ Hotch commands as you stand in the entrance to the round table room. Your body replies obediently, not knowing what else to do. The rest of the team continues their open stares. Only Spencer tries to hide his glances, indicating to you instantly that he is the one that told them.

‘Why didn't you tell us, princess?’ Derek asks as Garcia shuffles in, both hands clutching a steaming mug of tea that she places in front of you. You give her a thankful smile.

‘I guess I thought I could deal with it on my own. This SSA status must have gone straight to my head,’ you say, trying to elicit a chuckle from the group but they remain soberly silent. You feel like you are in front of a panel of parents that are all saying _‘we are not angry, just disappointed’_. You feel fourteen again. 

‘We just want to help,’ JJ urges, noticing the betrayal on your face. ‘You don’t need to go through this alone.’

She opens up her arms for a hug and you cautiously slip in, melting from the tender way she strokes your back. JJ is one of the most determined, strong-willed people you know but she is also extremely kind and welcoming. She has made you feel like you are truly family. 

You place the pictures and letter on the table, purposefully forgetting the lingerie at home, with a grim expression. You can sense the subtle twitches when the team notices the common denominator, the fact that every single picture is of you and Spencer, and that in every single one he is almost unrecognisable. You have written the date you got them on the back so it doesn't take long to lay them all out in order. And when the team stands up to survey them, you collapse onto the couch along one wall, squeezing your eyes shut. 

A weight sinks down next to you. There is only one person it can be. 

‘I'm not mad at you Spencer,’ you say and you can feel him hunch over in relief. ‘I know that you did it thinking it was the right thing to do. I trust your judgement.’

You both continue to look down at your laps, his sturdy fingers tapping absently. 

‘You were going to tell them today, weren't you?’

‘I was.’

‘I’m sorry you have to go through this.’

His fingers continue to twitch from where they are resting on his thigh. You study these movements absently. In any other situation, the fantasies would be x rated by now. 

‘It’s not your fault.’

‘Isn’t it? I’m in the pictures. I’m involved.’

‘It is not your fault, Spence. It is that motherfucker's fault for thinking that he has any claim on me, that he is justified in wanting to kill you. It’s neither of our faults.’

‘Is that what the letter said? That he wants to kill me?’

You contort your face with a sad smile. 

‘Yeah. That’s what made me decide to bring it to the team. I could endure endless threats and creepy pictures, but I could not stand to see you get hurt.’

Those mesmerizing eyes are staring into yours, glassy and warm. You trace the deep bags underneath and the mussed hair and think about how little he has slept in the past week. You imagine you look the same. Ever since your stalker broke in you haven’t gotten more than a couple of hours sleep each night, constantly terrified that he will take advantage of your vulnerable state. You have come to understand why Reid pours so much sugar into his coffee. 

The problem is that the lack of sleep and terror is not the worst thing that came out of that night. You have missed Spencer in a way you never realized you could. He had lodged himself as a constant in your life. First a constant irritation, then distraction, and finally a comfort. You miss constantly having knowledge that if you glanced up he would be there waiting on the other side of the barrier of the desk ready to offer you his time. That those crinkled eyes and endearing grin would always be waiting. You took it all for granted. 

‘How long have you been receiving these photos?’ Hotch asks, interrupting the moment. You glance between him and Spencer. 

‘Three weeks ago,’ you begin, grasping for reassurance in Reid’s eyes. ‘The night Spencer and I first kissed. That must have been what triggered the unsubs rage.’ 

You can sense the ripples of excitement, the tangible electricity that takes over the room. You shrug your shoulders, triggering Penelope’s shrill shrieks and Rossi’s gasps. Derek simply looks amused, shaking his head and clapping Hotch on the back. You hear sparse voices mention a bet, and _‘you both already knew?_ ’, but you are far more preoccupied with clasping onto Spencer’s hand, hoping that you can pour all your apologies and regret through your palm and into his. 

He breaks away first. 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> You start living with Emily as the case develops.


	15. Hanging By A Thread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of several revelations, you struggle to remain sane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are nearing the end folks!

It's hard to repair a relationship when both members have ended said relationship and when neither cared to admit that they were now regretting their decisions. Spencer understands why you pushed him away, and you understand how you pushing him away made him feel. But that doesn’t mean that you can forget all that has occurred.

Presently, you are waiting for your new alarm system to be installed while replaying that moment with Reid on the couch. Your coworkers are have not let you get away with dropping a bomb like that and Emily is currently perched on your kitchen counter with a glass of wine and a smirk as you attempt to explain to her why even though you have kissed, gone out on a date and even almost, maybe had sex you are still accepting that fact that whatever you had with Reid is over. Her arguments are weak (reinforcing to you why Hotch was a prosecutor and she is not) but they still get under your skin.

‘We both broke it off and I have nearly spoken to him all week, even after that supposed ‘moment’ on the couch. Sure I still have a soft spot for him but right now I’m more concerned with the fact that I have a literal stalker who has now progressed to threatening bodily harm.’

This morning another letter arrived, one that put the first one to shame. This one discussed such enlightening topics as the many ways he would remove Spencer’s various extremities and in which precise order, saving his ears for last for some bizarre reason. As a profiler, you know that most of this is bullshit, that a man who has thus far remained elusive and has attempted no physical harm yet is usually not any more dangerous than the paper he writes his threats on, but it is still visceral to read. Although on the plus side the pictures have stopped now that you don’t see Reid outside of work. 

Emily doesn’t say anything to counter your declaration, only taking a sip of wine and complaining about how our food will arrive before the alarm installer comes.

‘You know, you could just come stay with me,’ she says and you take a moment to consider it.

‘Really?’

‘Sure Y/N! It would make carpooling easier. And besides, I'm sure Hotch would eventually get an agent stationed with you, we may as well get ahead of the inevitable.’

‘You think this is going to get worse?’ 

She gives you a faint smile, registering how you didn’t immediately jump on the defensive, laminating about how you don’t need a babysitter. You may be the youngest by far (which Morgan will never let you forget) but you do have a gun and FBI training. She knows how scared you are. Perhaps this is penance, to make sure that she doesn’t have to see you go through what happened to her with Doyle months ago. You can tell she is still harbouring her guilt. 

‘I know that Hotch is overprotective,’ she says as she hands you your freshly refilled glass.

‘Thanks for the offer, Em, I'll think about it.’

It feels like everyone is walking on eggshells when you arrive at work the next morning. . If they treated you like a baby when you first joined straight out of the academy, then you are now practically a fetus in their eyes. The worst part is that Spencer can read you as quickly and easily as he reads a book. His eyes skim over you and he instantly sees to the depths of your soul. He can monitor your breathing, noticing how it flutters and turns shallow, and trace the motions of the muscles on your face, waiting for the micro expression that indicates how much you are truly scared. He sees that your mascara is ever so slightly smudged under your eye, how hard you tug at your collar as it slips down, the movement of your toes scrunching on your shoes. 

He is equally terrified. 

Hotch has allowed the team to work on apprehending your stalker part-time and has agreed to pay them overtime for it. So, each night they stay far past sunset studying every picture, creating a timeline, working out where the photographer would be stationed, monitoring CCTV around the places you frequent. So far all they have is an extremely blurry picture of a man in a hoodie who may or may not be pointing a camera at you and Spencer as you pick up coffee. The problem is that you live in a busy area and their attempts to narrow down the suspect pool by monitoring vehicle and pedestrian traffic has turned up nothing. And now that your apartment is being monitored 24/7, no new letters or photos have been delivered. All leads have been exhausted and now the BAU is going in circles as they try to come up with the profile. 

It's one of these nights, when you stay at Quantico well after dark, that you have your first extended conversation with Reid in days. He holds the elevator door open, his lips pressed in a hard line as you focus your attention down to your shoes. 

‘You're not mad at me, are you?’ 

‘Never, Y/N. Psychologically speaking, following the ending of a romantic relationship it takes upwards of months or even years to be able to view the other person in an unbiased, neutral light. That's why psychologists don’t recommend immediately forming close platonic attachments with-’ 

He stops himself abruptly. The doors open, chiming. On the other side is a parking lot of cars, but neither of you makes a move to exit. 

‘You always resort to facts when you feel overwhelmed. I know that they provide certain stability in a life of chaos. So I won't stop you, Dr Spencer Reid, you could list off the entire encyclopedia and I would listen.’

Your hand tentatively comes to rest on his upper arm. 

‘Which encyclopedia?’ he asks with an attempt at humour, ‘Which printing?’

‘Whichever one’s you're favourite.’

‘Well, some say that-’ he interrupts himself again, this time with a self-aware smile. ‘Thank you Y/N.’

He catches the door just as it is about to close again, motioning for you to exit. You stay in companionable silence in the course of the walk to your car, but Spencer speaks up once you unlock the driver's door.

‘I’ve missed you, Y/N.’

‘I’ve missed you too, Spence.’

‘Do you think that after all this…’

You know where the sentence is going, and you understand why he falters, yet you can't help wishing for him to say the words.

‘Once we catch him there will still be roadblocks, Spencer. Our problems don't go away just because one man is put in jail.’

The car door is strategically between you and Reid, creating a physical barrier to add to the emotional ones. You grip the metal tightly. 

‘But?’

‘But,’ you admit. ‘You are worth fighting for, Spence. And I'll be waiting for you, once this is all over.’

‘We will catch him, Y/N.’

‘I know, but it doesn't make the meantime any easier.’

He walks away once he makes sure you are safe in your car, his head turning over his shoulder involuntarily. He can’t let this look be the last. 

You live with Emily for the next two weeks. She tries to make it fun, to pull you out from under the cloud of depression and fragility, but no matter how many milkshakes she makes you or how many DVDs she rents, the truth is now unavoidable. The random phone calls continue from disposable cells Garcia can't track, and you are becoming scared to leave home. The cases have been hitting you more than usual and you know it will be any day now that Hotch will pull you aside and tell you your on desk duty until your stalker is caught. 

The team was adamant that this was an ex-lover or someone you turned down over the past year. It was a very short group of names. There were a couple of guys in the academy, that one professor who took a pass at you at your master's graduation, the cute barista that you would have gone out with if you hadn’t been hopelessly pining after Spencer when you first joined the BAU, and of course Ben. Hotch has informed you that thankfully the barista and the professor have been illuminated as suspects and that they are currently looking into the academy students, who now being agents would have the most access to you. Ben still lives in your hometown. 

The one thing that is keeping you busy is continuing your work on solving the murder of your parents. Using your newly honed profiler skills and the access that Garcia has to the interwebs, you are making headway. It took her cornering you in the copy room and bribery through chocolate to get you to tell her what case you were working on. She has kept her promise not to tell anyone so far. At the moment you are trying to link your parents' case to any other’s in the area after remembering that Hotch thought another double murder a state over was done by the same unsub. The problem is the profile at the moment is far too broad and the only evidence is buried six feet under. 

‘Hey, Princess!’

‘What?’ you exclaim impatiently. All the drama and stress of the past week has made you moody, although your bluntness does have its benefits. Not only has Morgan been bringing you coffee every day but JJ makes sure you are the first to know about any cute Henry stories. You and Spencer are still like bumper cars, ricocheting and knocking about in this void of uncertainty. Sometimes you click right together again, other times his words are harsh and you have to abstain from giving him a piece of your mind. And then there are times when he goes back to pretending you don't even exist. That hurts the most.

Garcia stumbles back, stunned. You immediately jump out of your seat and apologise. Your colleagues gape in the bullpen as you hasten to smooth things over.

‘Oh my god, Penny, I'm so sorry. I’m just really stressed at the moment. I didn't mean to take it out on you.’

She puts on a brave face, but the deafening silence rings in your ears. You want everyone to leave, for the barren shell to revert to the warmth that it offers in the dead of the night. You want to run and yet are stuck awkwardly frozen.

‘Come on, Y/N, let’s talk outside,’ Morgan says as he steers you by the elbow to the glass doors. You look back to see Spencer sending you a curious glare. 

‘Morgan I-’

‘Save it Jailbait, I’m not here to listen to your excuses and apologies, although I’m sure you'd mean everyone.’ You sigh. ‘I just wanted to see if you were alright. I know you have been stressed and maybe you need reminding that we are all here for you. You are not alone, we are all working to stop this guy.’

‘I know. Thank you, Derek. Can you make sure Penny is ok, I think I might have yelled a bit too loud.’

‘Oh sweetie it's fine,’ you hear the woman herself say. ‘And I accept your apology. The whole team is stressed and I know you meant nothing by it.’

‘You are too good for this world,’ you muse into her hair as she pulls you into a hug. When you pull away she has a grin on her face.

‘Well get ready to call me Mother Theresa because I was coming to tell you that Hotch has some new information concerning your case.’

You widen your eyes and glance at your boss standing ominously in the window of his office. You quickly hurry up the stairs. 

‘L/N, I know how stressful this all must be, so I’m respectfully asking you to step away from this case and consider taking a leave of absence. The job will be waiting for you when you choose to come back,’ your boss explains in that controlled, decisive voice. You glance through the window in his office to see JJ and Reid casually chatting while Morgan gets on with the paperwork. You gulp down the welling of tears. 

‘What about Spencer? Isn’t he as much involved as me? Equally at risk?’

‘I am going to speak to Reid, but that has nothing to do with the danger you are in. Staying with Prentiss is a start but if the unsub escalates I may be forced to put you in protective custody or send you to a safe house if any attempt is made.’

‘Murder attempts you mean,’ you correct. ‘And why are you even considering it?’

‘Your apartment was broken into again last night.’

You feel the need to sit down, but you are already settled in the chair in Hotch’s office; all you can do is sink further, grasping at the fake leather for grounding. 

‘I thought it was being surveilled?’

‘It is.’ Hotch takes a meditative sigh. ‘We have reason to believe the unsub also killed William Abernathy. His blood was found in your apartment.’

‘Will? The guy you worked at the coffee place? Garcia made it seem like you had good news.’

’Well be glad that she isn't a profiler because what we have discussed does not leave this office.’ 

You fight against crying the entire rest of the day. You remain in silent in the car as Emily tries to find a station that isn’t playing Justin Bieber. Over Chinese takeout on the couch, you focus all your attention on the insane reality show. After you complete endless forms and check endless boxes, signing your signature more than you can count. Although you hardly did anything in the last case the paperwork still haunts you. Finally, you settle on unearthing the accordion folder you have hidden under your bed and stare at your parent’s dead bodies until you can no longer recognise them. 

At one point you break. You have been chasing a lead that leads to nothing but frustration and wasted hours, and there is this irritation tightening inside you that can only be linked to the prolonged abstinence of whatever comfort Spencer may have once been able to offer. You have his address memorized and you teeter dangerously on the cliff's edge, wondering if you could take the step that either sends you flying up into the sky or plummeting to the beach. 

**_Are you awake?_ ** Spencer texts. You chuckle at what will be the closest to a _u up?_ text you will ever receive from the genius. But it also makes the decision that much harder. He is calling for you, but you still fight against answering. 

**_For you, maybe,_ **is your reply, wanting to throw your phone across the room once you send it into the great unknown. 

**_Can we talk?_ ** Is his reply **_In person?_ **

**_Emily is asleep._ **

You wait restlessly, hoping that he knows what you are insinuating. 

**_Do you know my address?_ **

**_Sure do, Doc._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> You reunite with Spencer.


	16. Reunions (Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reid has a theory you struggle to come to terms with.

Spencer begins to lose his courage once he sees the small font on-screen telling him that his message was delivered, then it is all gone when it says _read_. he has become secure in his own solitude, always turning down invitations, stumbling and rambling when speaking in front of new people, learning not to get attached because they leave or they die or they don’t keep their promises. But now with you, he is suddenly bold, telling through a subtle veil that you should come over to his place in the middle of the night after all that has come to pass. He actually welcomes the threats made to drown him as his brain finally catches the truth of the exchange. He wouldn’t mind dying now that he understands what it sounds like. Truly, he just wants to talk. 

He may be a certifiable genius with an almost inhuman memory, but he is so incredibly dense in many regards. How dare he abandon you, pretend that it doesn't bother him that the two of you have returned to the tension that ingrained itself into his life only a month ago. Perhaps Morgan is right, that one good fuck will clear the air. But that doesn’t mean he will act on it. 

He hears a knock and it sends that apprehension floating in his chest. Cautiously he advances, avoiding stacks of books. 

You are waiting for him on the other side.

‘So what do you want to talk about?’ you ask with a mocking sultry intonation. Spencer almost has a heart attack, one he would most certainly welcome if it didn't mean the end of seeing you standing at his door wearing only a nightgown under your FBI windbreaker. It is so attractively juxtaposing that he struggles to get his thoughts in order, a situation he almost never finds himself in. 

‘Um-’ 

‘What did you want to discuss? I risked a lot coming here. Emily will have my neck if she finds out I snuck out in the middle of the night. Not to mention the fact that if I get hurt Hotch will sequester me to a safe house for the rest of my natural life. It’s like having parents again.’

‘I was missing you,’ he blurts out, and it's not _not_ the truth. 

‘You said that the other day, Doc. Really Spence, what’s going on?’

You have stepped in out of the hallway with no resistance from Reid who is now standing awkwardly in the middle of his living room as if he isn't the one who lives here and has been invited in by a total stranger. Feeling pity and noticing his distress you guide him to the soft leather couch. 

‘I think I know who killed your parents, and I didn't think that it would be polite to tell you over the phone.’

_Oh shit._

Your whole body tenses and the blood drains from your face into a space unknown. It certainly doesn’t go to your brain as that organ is currently short-circuiting and it absolutely doesn’t reach your hands which are shaking frantically. Perhaps all the liquid is what is making your heartbeat incessantly, so much that you can swear Spencer can see the movement of it under your rib cage. 

‘You think or you know?’ you managed to say quietly. ‘Because those are two very different concepts.’ 

The oxygen in the air must have seeped out of the room because you are feeling dizzy as you try to process the impossibility of what he said. You are struggling to listen intently now, and instead of sitting forward to hear better, you seem to have sunk further into the couch, awaiting what comes next. 

‘I am as certain as I can be,’ he says cautiously. ‘Profiling is not an exact science, and even the firmest evidence can be misleading-’

’But?’ 

His eyes meet yours and it takes you back to the close proximity of his face in the storage closet right before you secured that shot of courage. 

‘But,’ he says, remembering the look of your hair reflecting the fluorescent lights in the parking lot. 

‘Wh-who is it?’ you stutter, staring at him as he pales and the tears collect in the corner of your eye. 

‘I’m so sorry, Y/N, there is no easy way to say this…’

‘Reid, no part of our job is easy, now spit it out before I shake so much I turn into one of those work out machine’s from the 50s.’

He takes your hands and you feel him shaking as much as you are. 

‘I have reason to believe it was your ex, Ben Davis. He was visiting his aunt’s house in the same state at the time of the first murder, which you connected to your parents, and he had access to your house. You said he was the one you broke to lock for, so he had means. Your phone records also say that you called him only minutes before you approximate you left and it can thus be supposed that you told him that you were leaving, giving him an opportunity. And as for motive, I remember several anecdotes you said in passing that to the untrained mind may be moderately funny but in fact portray the beginnings of emotional and physical domestic abuse.’

‘Shut the fuck up,’ you hiss as denial takes over you. You yank yourself away, scooting across to lean against the opposite armrest as you stare down the couch at Spencer.

‘Y/N-’

‘You don't know what the hell you're talking about. Ben would never hurt me, and he would never _kill_ my parents! Are you insane?’

‘I know this might be quite a shock…’

‘Oh you know do you?’ you sneer. ‘I think you might have to retake the IQ test because they obviously got the part where you are supposed to be a genius wrong.’

‘I’m sorry, I should have warned you, but why don't you take a breath and we can review the evidence. I never said my hypnosis was the absolute truth.’

‘Because it isn’t’ you say with acidity, by you comply and take a breath, repositioning yourself on the couch. ‘But fine, I will at least take your offer to defeat every single one of your arguments.’

Spencer smiles. Your determination and relentless pursuit of your own theories always makes him proud even if he knows that it is what is keeping you from recognising the truth. But he does understand that it must be hard to suddenly reevaluate your entire relationship with a man you have known and even loved for years, not to mention the startling conclusion to six years of dedication. 

‘Maybe this isn't the right time.’ Reid suggests when you fight back a yawn, gripping a pillow tight to your chest. ‘This must be emotionally draining and you need your rest. I’ll take the couch, my room is just through that door.’

Through his apartment you trudge as Reid shifts about on the couch as he struggles to rest comfortably. Pausing and looking over your shoulder you see the young man finally look like a babe again. Like when he clutches to himself, curled up on the jet. He looks practically adolescent when he allows the permanite furrow of his brows to soften and his lips settle into a slight smile as he pulls the blanket around himself. He notices the ending of your footsteps and sits up slightly, peeking up from over the armrest. 

‘Is everything alright?’

Your lower lip trembles and you press it together with the top lip in an attempt to mask it. 

‘Y/N?’

‘Goodnight Reid.’

Spencer knows that something is wrong, and he has a whole deck of explanations to choose from. Getting up, blanket in hand and a pillow under one arm, he shuffles over and drapes the warm knit over you. Your eyes close, out of an overflow of love and hesitancy. Unsteadily, you pull him around you, clutching onto the hand that smooths the blanket over your shoulders and holding it in yours over your heart. His chest presses reassuringly on your back, his simple presence more bolstering than a hundred aimed and loaded guns, and you tell him those exact words.

‘That’s preposterous, I could on average, taking into account my training and the-’

‘No, Spence, not everything has to be logical. I am most safe when I am by your side.’

You are facing him now, holding the blanket like a cape as you stare up at his eyes and let every emotion easily slip over your features. Almost as if there are words written on your face that he is reading, he echos back in full. 

‘I’m sorry.’ 

‘Stop saying that. You promised that you would wait until morning.’

‘I never said that exactly. What I believe I said was that that ‘this isn't the right time.’’

‘Believe?’ you ask as he contemplates. The blanket falls. Your arms link behind his neck and he returns to you, securing his hands at your waist, his thumb skimming just under the cup of where your bra should be. The FBI jacket is long gone and his fingers heat travels through the thin fabric of your nightgown. His kiss is tentative and you savour the feeling. 

Through the bedroom door you travel as you wish he had on a tie you could pull. You resort to pressing yourself against the wall, pulling him close enough to lean over you as you build up the intensity. Up his shirt your hands glide and his hands follow a similar path over cloth. Your lips still mould together, frantically now, daring the other to pull away. Next, his kisses dance over your chin and throat as he sends his fingers up your skirt. It's just next to his bed that he cups you through your panties, teasing you with a finger rubbing leisurely around your clit until you can feel the sizzle of heat begin to form. 

‘Come on Spence, try a little harder,’ you say into his ear hoping that the saucy tone you say it spurs him on. Luckily it does. 

And onto the bed you go, tripping as you both attempt to shed your clothing as quickly as possible. 

The moon can be seen through the crack in the curtains. It is almost full and glowing pale against the back sky. Spencer is sprawled by your side, clutching onto a pillow like a teddy bear. You admire the softness and ponder the absurdity of the past couple days. You wonder what brought you back to consciousness. You sit up on your elbows and glance around the room. There is a light coming from under the door, and you can see the shadow of feet. You jolt and try to wake up Spencer quietly. You reach for your phone as Spencer goes for his revolver in the dresser.

The intruder walks in with a gun and a cloth in the other hand. Before you can even fight he has pistol-whipped Reid and shoves the cloth under your nose. The last thing you manage to do before the lights begin to fade is dial Hotch’s number. Your boss, on the other end of the phone, stares at the caller ID at five in the morning wondering what the hell is going on. When he picks up all he hears is heavy breathing and a whimper before the line cuts out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter:  
> You reunite with someone from your past.


	17. Reunions (Part Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you and Spencer are kidnapped, the team races to save you.

You are glad that you weren't physically knocked unconscious. Besides not having to deal with the throbbing headache that Spencer has and the possibility of a concussion, you also don’t experience the sudden blackness, only the growing fog of unconsciousness that chloroform provides. Although, you are beginning to wonder where all these unsubs are purchasing a drug used during labour in the 19th century. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on how you look at it, you are also unconscious for longer and when your eyes adjust to the darkness, you see that Spencer is already awake and struggling against his bindings. 

‘Spence?’

‘Y/N! You're awake!’

‘Don’t you dare say I told you so,’ you groan as you yank sharply on the rope knotted tightly around your arms. You can faintly see the scrunching of his face in confusion but you remain focused on studying your surroundings and struggling to get free. You seem to be in a storage locker, most likely an abandoned one judging by the fluttering of a solitary damp comic long-deserted in the corner. There is no light coming in from under the metal door so it’s either the next day or not yet morning, but since you are not abnormally hungry you have most likely been missing for only a couple of hours. The rest of the complex must also be abandoned as you can’t help but ponder the risk of leaving two kidnapped people free to yell without a gag in a semi-public place. 

‘Spencer, do you know of any abandoned storage facilities in and around DC?’

‘I, uh, no. I’ve gone through the entire list of abandoned properties in DC I know of and not one of them looks like this.’

Spencer’s chair thumps across the floor, speaking and groaning as he heaves himself, chair and all, to your side. There is just enough ambient light for you to trace the edge of his side profile. You cling to the image of him last night, the soft glow of lamplight grazing his cheekbones as he hovered over you, brushing the hair back from your face in a soothing and unbelievably sensual way. That intimacy haunts you, the fact that he has traced every inch of your skin. You close your eyes and get caught up in the comfort of the past, dissociating until you almost forget that you are kidnapped and shivering in a storage locker. 

The metal door screeches and rattles open, the blinding light of a flashlight piercing your corneas. The daydream is fleeting, and soon the nightmare of reality takes over. 

‘Have you seen the kid anywhere?’ comes Morgan’s voice from the break room. He has been milling about for the past couple minutes, ducking his head into rooms and training an eye to the bank of elevators. 

‘Not yet, but he is usually in by now,’ JJ replies, smoothing her blouse after hanging her coat on the back of her chair. She stays standing, however, with her arms crossed next to Morgan once he returns to the bullpen. 

‘L/N isn’t in either, but it's not like she is known to be in early,’ Morgan says with a puzzled sweep of the bullpen, settling his gaze on the desks of his missing coworkers. 

‘She was gone before I got up for breakfast an hour ago.’ Emily adds with confusion. ‘Where else could she be?’

The three of them only abandon their post by the desks once Penelope marches by motioning for them to follow her to the round table room. Garcia supplies her own information to the conversation as they walk. 

‘I heard she was on leave. Hotch was filling out the paperwork yesterday.’

‘Only her? Not Spence was well?’

The whole team is talking now, spinning restlessly in their chairs at the roundtable as they wait for the impromptu meeting Hotch has called. Even Rossi, who despite not looking the part is one of the biggest gossips of the office, has no idea what’s going on. 

‘Good, you are all here,’ Hotch says as he sweeps into the room. 

‘What is this about, Aaron?’ Rossi asks as he leans back in his seat. 

‘I have reason to believe Reid and L/N are missing and possibly in danger.’

Spencer’s wrists are raw and stinging against the rope. It's not high quality or the type he would personally use to tie someone up, but it does do the job and he has been desperately attempting to get himself free for the past hour or so. It has only been in the last five minutes that his logical side that sought to discover the exact material of the rope and the type of knot used is taken over by his emotion side which is making him dangerously close to biting off his own arms to get free as you lurch back away from the form of your serial killer ex-boyfriend. 

‘I’ve missed you, baby,’ Ben says as he grazes his hand over your cheek. You flinch and move your head away but his hand follows and the other comes to grip your chin tightly so that you can’t see Spencer.

You remember that Spencer said once that there are actually four responses to being put in a life-threatening situation. The well-known ones are fight and flight, but there are also two more: freeze and fawn. You were saving your fight for later when you could get away, and Reid seems to have mastered freeze pretty well already, so you decide to play into Ben’s game. 

‘I should have kept in touch, Ben, I’m sorry.’

He smiles in a way you only used to see when he had one too few drinks and became super possessive and jealous. You pressed your lips together to remain stoic as Ben continued to stroke your face and glare at Reid.

‘Leave her alone, Ben,’ Spencer yelled. ‘You have me, just let her go.’

‘Oh, the Doctor is speaking,’ Ben mocks and you sag in your seat as he shoves your head back once he lets go. 

He pulls the gun from the back of his jeans, stroking it slightly like he’s a little girl with a doll. Ben isn’t as tall as Spencer, but he still has a clear advantage as he leers over the young Agent who remains bound in his chair. You can see his fingers continuing to work the knots slowly as you continue to tug sharply on your own. 

‘Don’t hurt him,’ you say with a scream. Your hair is dirty and falling in a mess over your eyes and your arms are burning with pain. This is how all those victim’s you could and couldn’t save experienced, this pain was theirs as well. They had no hope and this constant throbbing anxiety that leads to tears and screams and an incredibly human point of desperation. The chair is hard and cold under you and you imagine if you lean back and fall on it hard enough you could possibly manage to break it and get free. But the chance is slim and Ben still has the gun in his hand as he leans over Spencer. 

‘How dare you think you are good enough for her. I killed for her! I will kill you for her! All you have is a drug addiction and daddy issues.’ 

‘She doesn’t love you, Ben. And she never will.’

‘Liar!’

Your cheeks are wet and stinging with the salt from your tears. You have never been this terrified and the conversation between Spencer and Ben is hard to drown out. But with life and death situations comes an intense clarity. You twist your arms, and after managing to work one of the knots free you slip one of your arms free. The other was still bound to the back of the chair and your feet are still hopelessly secured, but you have more than you had before. You meet Spencer’s eye and motion slightly to alert him to your free arm. He nods slightly and continues to try and deescalate the situation with his training which also distracting Ben. 

The chair is old and wooden. It probably wouldn't be worth more than ten bucks at the local flea market which means it has the distinct advantage of being poorly crafted and close to breaking. Thinking it through, if you time it correctly, you could smash the chair apart if you pushed hard with your feet and landed on your back, and with your free hand you could use one of the broken legs as a weapon. The problem is that you won’t have enough time to do this before Ben points and/or uses his gun. You have to rely on your assumption that he won’t kill you and that if Spencer did the same thing at the same time, it could serve as a further distraction away from you getting free. 

‘Her phone last pinged at Reid’s apartment, as does Wonder Boy’s. But I looked into a list of abandoned buildings in a thirty-mile radius and I have come up with at least twenty-five locations big and isolated enough.’

‘Thank you, Garcia,’ Hotch replies before turning to face the rest of the team. ‘Agent Yates is in New York on vacation this week and Agent Gomez is at a conference in Berlin so our only remaining suspect as of now is Ben Davis.’

‘He’s the guy she went to college with, right?’ Morgan asks.

‘And high school. It seems he moved back to their hometown after college and….’ Garcia paused. ‘He started renting an apartment in DC a month ago.’

‘What’s the address, Sugar?’

‘1766 Q Street,’ Penny replies. ‘But his phone is showing up on the opposite side of town at an abandoned storage facility.’

‘That must be where he is keeping them.’

‘Call swat and send the coordinates, we need to get there as quickly as possible.’

Ben notices your wriggling and spins on his heels, pointing his gun at you. 

‘Sneaky, sneaky,’ he taunts. ‘You’d better hold still if you want pretty boy over here to make it to tomorrow.’

‘Please, Ben, you don’t need to do this. Think about it, what could you possibly gain by killing my boyfriend in front of me? I don’t love you anymore, I don't think I ever did. Have you heard of something called transference?’

You pause to study him. His arm training the gun, which switches between you and Spencer, is shaking and he is seething with conflicted rage. 

‘You taking care of me after the death of my parents meant that I saw you as a protector and I became dependent on you. I thought that those feelings of safety and comfort that you made me feel equalled love, but they didn’t. Put down the gun, Ben, please do that for me.’

‘But-’ he starts and the gun shakes more. ‘I killed them for you. They locked you up in that house so I killed them.’

‘I know you meant well Ben but I need you to put the gun down.’

You don't know if your words actually have any effect on him because before he can retaliate the door is clanging open and the gradual light that had been building without you noticing is now blinding as your co-workers and several members of SWAT storm in. Spencer, who has finally broken free of his bindings just at the right time, uses the distraction to disarm Ben. Hotch marches over with handcuffs and before you know it Emily is freeing you. 

You immediately run over to Reid and pull him into a tight hug. Your tears stain his shoulder and he grunts at the impact. Your heart is beating frantically but it calms you as you clutch to him as tight as you can without hurting him, and his hand comes up to stroke at your hair. 

‘Boyfriend?’ he questions once you begin to separate. 

You just looked into his eyes as a grin spread across your face. It feels good to smile again. 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is the last one and is a sort of epilogue that explores the effects of the kidnapping on your life and relationship with Spencer. 
> 
> Thank you so much for your support!


	18. Since

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ending, in which the next year of your life is laid out.

**_One hour since_ **

The lights on the ambulance were still flashing and they reflected off the shock blanket that covered your shoulders. You thought back to last night. The memory of that glimmer of happiness was what helped you survive. You grip the thin blanket tighter and move your gaze up from your feet and up to Spencer sitting across from you sporting a similar reflective blanket on his back. Your eyes meet and there is no guilt or passion or even shock, simply a longing. He looks like a lost puppy sitting on someone's doorstep in the middle of a thunderstorm just begging to be loved. He has gone through it with you, and for that, you will always thank him. 

You only break away to see Ben be escorted away in handcuffs, and when you look back, Reid is standing. Slowly, taking unsure steps, he makes his way over and sits by your side. You are taken back to that case that feels like it happened years ago. You were such a different person then as you sat in the back of an ambulance wearing Spencer’s cardigan as he told you it was time to go home. You were still trying to prove yourself then, and had not yet realised that there was nothing to prove. You were fighting against something that you don't need to conquer. In the end all was solved. 

You lean against Spencer and you can feel his shivering bones through the layers. Your arms wrap around his middle, clutching tightly so that he won’t slip through your fingers. 

‘I think one day I might love you,’ you whisper, hoping that maybe he will hear. 

‘I think someday I will love you too.’

**_One day since_ **

You don’t sleep the next night and spend the next day dead on your feet. Between the emotional and physical exhaustion mixed with what you regretful label PTSD, you are a cocktail of trauma just waiting to implode.

The doctors have kept you in overnight to monitor your vitals and possible effects of the chloroform and you spend most of it watching old Friends reruns as you move into a comfortable position that doesn't press on your bruises. The next morning after they bring you a sickly sweet box of apple juice, you go wandering to where Reid is suffering from a concussion. You wrap the dressing gown Penelope brought you, fishing it out of a bag full of clothes, books, and random nick-nacks that made you smile as you admired the dedication to variety. JJ is asleep in the chair in the corner of his room and you gently wake her up, telling her to go home to her husband and kids.

‘How are you doing, Y/N?’ she asks when she is halfway out the door.

‘I’m as well as I can be considering.’

‘I’m glad. Rember, it gets better. Even if all it feels like its worse, it will always get better.’

You nod, knowing not what to say, and replace her spot in the chair, dragging it along with your IV to his bedside. You stay there until visiting hours officially begin and the team arrives with hugs and good news. 

‘He confessed to everything,’ Hotch says as he stands in clothes vaguely resembling casual. ‘Both murders and the stalking.’

‘He is going away for a long time,’ Emily reassures you. 

Reid has woken up now and the nurse comes in to check in on him. 

You don't have any time alone with him because you are sent home with the rest of the BAU at the end of visiting hours. But it doesn’t matter, because in the dewy hours of the morning you watched the flutter of his eyelashes and almost cried at how peaceful he looked asleep. It will be a long road, but you will travel it by his side. 

**_Two days since_ **

You don’t want to be left alone. You need constant distraction, like a small child with an injury that only feels pain when others fuss. The more people mention the pain the more it hurts. Emily understands, in fact, the entire team does. It’s their job. Yet it is with Spencer that you stay up late talking to on the phone, it is Spencer who finally manages to help you to sleep. And in the morning it is Spencer that talks you into eating breakfast. You have been dizzy and suffering from a bizarre tightness in the chest ever since you woke up after being drugged. You try and be there for Spencer but he has a whole hospital to monitor his mild concussion and a whole team of profilers to take turns checking up with him. It’s easier to understand the problem when it is physical. 

They say a traumatic event is any event that drastically changes your perception of reality. This happened when your parents died. But what you didn't expect is that during a night in which you finally reached the startling conclusion of over half a decade of relentless investigation, alongside the life-altering truth that your ex-boyfriend stabbed your parents to death and then kidnapped and threatened you and your current boyfriend with a gun, would be equally traumatic. And you were struggling to cope. If anything, the support was too much. 

Penelope had sent you gift baskets and the whole BAU had signed a huge card together. You hugged them and kissed them. You took their well wishes and advice to heart. You know that there are there if you need them, and yet you are still terribly, unequivocally, terrified. 

You are a Supervisory Special Agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, a name whose length is only matched by how far you know your team will go to protect you, and yet you can't unlodge the horrific thought that you or Spencer could have died that night. 

**_A week and a half since_ **

Emily helps you pack up all your stuff. You have let your lease expire and need help moving all of the contents of your old apartment into your new one. Morgan brought up the fact that it is located in Spencer’s building as if it was a piece of juicy gossip but the rest of the team are supportive and recognised that the bridge between you and the young doctor needs time to be rebuilt. 

Garcia planned the surprise housewarming party, alongside Reid who had the keys necessary to sneak everything in. When you walk in with the final load of boxes there is bunting strung up and a sizable sheet cake with celebratory balloons drawn in icing. The entire team yells ‘SURPRISE’ and you almost drop the box full of extremely breakable objects if not for Spencer seizing it from you as you gasp in shock.

‘You guys!’ you exclaim in awe. You turn to mockingly glare at Spencer as he sets down the heavy box. He shrugs sheepishly and looks away but you can tell he is smiling just as much as you are when he turns. 

You get one hug after another, and plenty of champagne. The BAU splits up after cake to help you unpack. Rossi has taken charge of the kitchen while Hotch and Morgan arrange all the heavy furniture. Emily and JJ are doing all the finer details like hanging pictures and putting away all the linens and towels. You find yourself in your new bedroom with Reid as you put your clothes away.

‘I don’t think I will be spending much time here.’

He glances up from the bookshelf in the corner next to the window. He has arranged them by author and by genre, a system you are sure you will completely mess up in the following weeks. You see his signature look of confusion as he processes what you said. For a literal genius, he sure does look confused a lot. 

‘Then why did you rent this apartment?’

‘I mean in this room, Spence. Because I will be in yours. Ya know, doing things that adults do in beds…’

‘Oh.’ He looks a bit shocked and begins to pale. ‘Oh!’

‘Why else do you think I moved into the same building as you? I know we still need our space and it will be a tough couple of months as we get back on track, but I moved here so that I could be close to you. In more ways than one.’

‘How many ways?' Spencer replies as he abandons his work to stand next to you beside the dresser. ‘And how many positions?’ he adds once he catches on to your meaning.

‘As many as you’d like,’ is your answer as he moves in front of you so that you are fitted snugly between him and the wooden dresser that is pressing into the small of your back. He leans down tentatively, ghosting his lips over yours, allowing you to be the one to finally press them together. He remains cautious, sinking slowly in as his hand grazes your hip and you clutch at his shoulder. 

It's the first kiss you have shared since the kidnapping and the night of your first time together, so it is still ingrained with newness. His teeth knock against yours awkwardly and you struggle to remain standing as he leans you against the dresser. You almost yank his hair out when he barely catches you from knocking your head against the wall when he lifts you up. It ends not when you part for breaths but when your giggles hinder his movements and he is forced to pull away. 

**_Two weeks since_ **

‘Spence?’ you call into his apartment. You saw him yesterday in the morning when he brought you a muffin with your coffee, but it’s been radio silence since. You both have decided to take things slow and remain living separately but it’s hard to not spend your every waking moment with the young doctor. He is your only lifeline. And you know that if you bring this up he will start talking about codependency and PTSD and never stop, so you have remained quiet and respected his boundaries. However, you are beginning to become scared of such a prolonged absence and have come to ask if he wants to have dinner, or maybe go to a movie. 

All you are greeted with is silence. You wander through the books to his bedroom, knocking but receiving no answer. You peek in but find no sign of him and make a promise to check in on him later when he gets back from wherever he may be. That is until you hear a faint grunt coming from behind one of the doors. 

‘Spencer, is that you?’

‘Go away Y/N,’ he groans. He sounds like he’s dying, but there is a false sweetness over top that tells you that he is struggling to mask it. He wants you to leave, but you can’t do that until you know he is alright. You knock on the door even though you can see his shadow in the lie of light at the bottom. He is leaning against it and you slip down into the same position. 

‘It’s okay, Spence, I’m here. Tell me what's wrong.’

‘I don’t think I can fight it anymore.’

You collapse at the heart-wrenching sound. His voice is hoarse and yet you can tell that his sinuses are blocked up from crying. 

‘I know you can, Spence. I won’t let you give up.’

You can hear sniffles on the other side and you break a little more inside. 

‘Why does it always happen to me?’ he asks and you don't know if he wants an answer. 

‘I know it seems like no matter what you do that life never stops punishing you, but you have saved countless lives, Spence. I could fill an entire auditorium with the people who are living because of you. And not a highschool auditorium but a huge stadium, one where thousands of musicals and sports teams have played that you've never heard of. But you also saved me, Spencer, and I can never thank you enough. I need you, Doc, I need you in your entirety. I need you to remain sober. You need to remain sober for yourself and for everyone who loves you.’

The door to the bathroom tentatively opens and you are both crying enough to rival Niagara falls when you collapse gratefully into each other’s arms. 

**_Three weeks since_ **

‘Get your hands off my cookies you rake!’ you exclaim with an air of melodrama. 

‘Rake?’ Spencer retorts. ‘You don’t hear that word any more. Did you know that the use of rake as an insult is an alteration of rakehell which finds its origins in the 1540s?’

‘No I did not, but that interesting fact does not exempt you from still being one. You ate my last oreo, Spencer, and for that you are a rake.’

‘Actually, if you must use an old fashioned insult, ‘cad’ or even ‘caddie’ would be a better choice. A rake is someone who is an idle or dissolute person-’

‘Which you are,’ you amend. 

‘-While a cad is someone who acts with deliberate disregard for others feelings and a caddie is someone supposedly without inner feelings.’

‘And with that snarky tone, you are all three. Why are you always so intelligent just up until you commit theft in broad daylight with a witness present?’

‘I am always this intelligent, I just forgo displaying it sometimes. Such as when I stole your cookie.’

‘So you admit it!’

Spencer only sighs as you stare back at him smugly with your arms crossed. He meant what he said three weeks ago, that it is not a matter of if he will love you, but when. And he has already begun to fall. He kisses you soundly before you can notice the look of complete and utter adoration that has overcome his features. He doesn't want to scare you with the truth. 

**_One month since_ **

After one month of paid leave, you and Reid return to the BAU bullpen. You will miss the afternoons where Spencer taught you chess and the evenings when you forced him to watch all the movies he missed while completing his many PhDs. However, it does feel good to be back. Quantico is just how you left it all those weeks ago, with a desk stacked high with paperwork and a boss that gives you a wry smile as the team gathers you and Reid into a massive group hug. You meet his eyes once you all break apart and the joy on his face sends your heart fluttering. You thought you would be immune to the butterflies by now, but you still tremble when he sends you a wink from across the bullpen as Morgan drags him away by the elbow. 

The first case back is a doozy, but you put all your energy into it. 

After the unsub is caught, you are only kept awake by your desire to cuddle up on the plane with Reid. You know that the team will tease, and that there will be pictures circulating Qunatico come morning, but you have no care for that. Because nothing else matters but being held by the man you love. 

It’s taken you a while to admit it, but it’s true. 

And somehow, in the dark of the jet when the pilot turns off the lights and all there is left is silence and sleep, you hear him whisper into your hair. 

‘I cannot quantify how much I love you,’ he admits. 

He thinks that you are asleep just like every other soul in view, but your eyes flutter open at his words and he trembles a little. You squeeze his hand and whisper right back.

‘No matter how impossible it may seem, I love you more.’

**_Two months since_ **

‘Is this going to be an ongoing problem?’ your boss asks as you wither in your chair. Spencer isn’t faring much better and has been absorbed with picking fluff off his sweater for the last minute. 

‘No sir,’ you reply with a dry throat as the events of the last few days replay and a severe blush returns to your cheeks. ‘Never going to happen again. Promise.’

Hotch was more than supportive of your relationship with the young doctor when the two of you returned to work, only asking for the obligatory paperwork completed to keep Strauss out of your hair, but several _instances_ over the past few days have changed his attitude for the worse. 

It started with Morgan, something you all saw coming. At first, is just his normal teasing, perhaps flirting with you to rille Reid up. But then he got Garcia in on it, then Prentiss. And by the time Rossi became involved they had come up with a list of every single sex spot in the office and were daring yoy to and Spencer to check each one off the list. But that's not even what’s made Hotch this pissed, in fact, the sex spot list may have even made Hotch blush like a tomato and you are scared to ask why. No, what made Hotch order you into his office like a drill sergeant is a collection of embarrassing moments over the last week that can no longer be ignored. 

Last Thursday you were stuck at Quantico with Penelope because of the combination of a visit to the dentist, therapy, and the fact that the case was only miles from your hometown, a place you never wanted to return to. So you hung out in Penny’s bat cave and chatted with the team over the phone. At one point it seemed only Spencer was on and Garcia was mouthing you dares until you finally caved in. 

‘Hey Doctor?’ you asked in your breathest voice while Garcia squirmed with excitement. ‘You wanna know what I’m going to do with you when you get back?’

‘Um, Y/N-’ his voice was high pitched but you continued as Penelope hyped you up. 

‘Yes, Doctor? Are you using that big, fat brain of yours to solve the case or are you too busy imagining the feeling of my-’

You sounded like a porn actress and Penelope was wheezing but Spencer was still stuttering your name. 

‘I’m not driving,’ he manages to get out and you pause. 

‘What do you mean? I can hear the engine in the background.’

‘Reid is obeying the law and not on the phone whilst driving,’ comes the deep voice of Agent Aaron Hotchnor and you almost faint. Penelope hurriedly ends the call and stares at you in disbelief and panic. The shock doesn't leave your system for hours. 

That was only your first strike. The next was the Tuesday after the case had been wrapped up and you were forced to face everyone. News had travelled fast and Morgan had a permanent smirk. 

‘You’d better be prepared for when Pretty Boy gets you back,’ came his ominous warning as he accosted you by the coffee machine. 

‘Oh come on, Spence was more embarrassed than me. And he’s not one for revenge.’

‘I think he is if the right person is involved.’

After that, all hell broke loose. First there were the lacy panties shoved in Reid’s desk that you definitely didn't put there although they were from the same brand you wore. Luckily Hotch was not directly involved with that event but rather asked unanswered questions about what the commotion was while Morgan belly laughed and Spencer looked like he was going to have a heart attack. It took your boss less than a day to figure out what happened. Next came when you had a plan to get back at Derek for what he pulled and found his feet under the round table. Only Penelope knew of your plan and while everyone looked up at her to see what she was giggling at, you hiked you leg up Morgan’s calf. Except it wasn’t Derek who jumped up from his chair, and it definitely wasn’t Morgan that you were now apologizing profusely too.

**_Five months since_ **

‘I don’t know Spanish, though,’ is your answer when Spencer invites you to a Spanish horror film. You have been officially dating for some months now but he still manages to come up with unique date ideas. 

‘Don’t worry, Y/N, they should have subtitles. But if not I can always whisper the translations in your ear.’

The devilish grin he sends you makes him look like the romantic lead in an 80s rom-com. 

‘Oh? Will you?’ you tease as you imagine his lips brushing against your ear in the dark of the movie theatre. It sends a glorious tingle up your spine and your thighs press together at the shiver creating friction in your trousers. The rest of the bullpen is still focused on work, but you are lost in your own little world in his eyes. 

He is true to his word and when you emerge from the hot theatre and into the crisp air, your skin is burning. You wore a skirt for the occasion and his hand trials uncomfortably close to the hem of your underwear as he drives the two of you home. 

‘Your place or mine?’ you ask and he chuckles. 

‘You should just move in already, Y/N, you already spend most of your time at my apartment anyway.’

‘That’s because it has south-facing windows and a comfy couch. But I’m glad you brought it up because the end of my six-month lease is ending next month and I was thinking about how pointless it is to still be living in the same building but not the same apartment.’

‘So you will move in with me?’

‘Of course, Spence. But we are using my dishes, yours are all chipped,’ you say in all seriousness. 

‘Of course, we will, Y/N,’ he replies with a grin as he parks. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you too.’

**_Nine months since_ **

In the morning when you wake up, there is a card waiting on your side table propped up on the base of the lamp. You make out your name in Spencer’s scrawly handwriting and your mouth is suddenly overtaken with an unpreventable smile. When you open it and look up, he is leaning in the door war with his signature sheepish grin. It takes everything you have not to leap out of bed and tackle him to the floor with kisses. But he has breakfast in his hands, and the bed is far more inviting. 

Today is the one year anniversary of you working for the BAU. A magical, traumatic, life-changing year. One where you met the darkest parts of humanity, and also the brightest. It takes a certain type of person to withstand such a brutal job, but you and the rest of the team have created an oasis of love. Having your boyfriend by your side through it all help as well. 

He sets the breakfast down on the duvet and kisses your cheek, saying ‘Happy anniversary.’ It's much the same when you get ready and go into work. The BAU, Penelope and Rossi in particular, welcome any excuse to have a party, and once again there is a line of hugs and the promise of drinks and a home-cooked meal at the end of the day.

It’s JJ that finds you crying at your desk as you prop up this week's cards alongside a year's work of well wishes. 

‘What's wrong sweetie?’ she asks and the tears overflow.

‘I've never been this loved. It's overwhelming. In a good way of course.’

You are wiping at the damp trails down your cheeks and you can hear JJ saying reassuring words, but nothing matches the look of distress and overflowing concern Reid has as he pushes off from his desk and rushes over. 

It feels good to be loved. 

**_One year since_ **

You are sitting in the same hotel room that you shared with Dr Spencer Reid a little over a year ago. There are two beds and you are cursing Garcia and laughing of the subtle irony of it all. The first visit was when you needed the push one bed could provide, and now you and Reid have slept together almost every night for at least eight months, even on cases. Hotch automatically understands that getting two separate beds is pointless. 

‘And to think that last time I was praying to every god I knew the name of for a double room.’

Spencer looks up from his notes with a heartbroken and puzzled expression, his puppy dog eyes in full effect. 

‘Greek and Roman?’

‘All except the minor gods.’

‘Egyptian?’

‘Even Egyptian,’ you say as you try not to laugh. 

‘Buddha? Because in fact Buddha was a real person that was supposed to have lived somewhere in the 4th to 6th century BCE,’ he comments, catching on to your teasing.

‘Come on Spence, no need to rub it in, we all know you are the smartest person in every room you walk into.’

You duck back down into your notes, but with a sideways look notice that his tie is crooked. You study his figure for a moment, gazing adoringly at the dark plum suit you talked him into buying on a whim. Of course, he still has on his sweater vest underneath and his socks are bright and mismatched. His hair has grown out, and you can practically feel your hands going through it as you remember the way he kissed you earlier. 

‘Is my hair too messy?’ he asks when he notices you staring. 

‘No,’ you say as you get up. ‘But your tie is crooked.’

He immediately jumps up to fix it, sweeping his hands nervously through his hair in the mirror. He has been especially nervous the past few days and you don’t blame him. While Hotch, as a former prosecutor, fits in well in the courtroom, lawyers are always wary and sometimes downright rude to the ‘supposed’ genius. Maybe it's his rambling coupled with the manic gesturing, it may also be the questioning of his qualifications and inhuman abilities that leads to a flare in his temper. Either way, you feel the same way. The Richards' trial has commenced and you and Reid have been called to testify. This is your first time in a courtroom, let alone testifying. 

‘Don’t worry, honey, just remember what Hotch told you.’

‘I know, I know. But this is my first time and I have a right to be a little bit nervous.’

He is facing you now, holding you steady with his hands on the sides of your shoulders. 

‘Just remember that I love you and that these motherfuckers are going to jail for a very long time no matter what you say.’

‘Dr Spencer Walter Reid, did you just swear?’ you ask, half teasing half in surprise.

‘Don’t tell my mother.’


End file.
